Murphy could not grow accustomed to changing the bandages wrapped around his burn, for every time he removed one, he was reminded of when Connor baked his skin with an iron. When peeling off the first one of the day, he thought he'd see nothing but black underneath, but was relieved to see only bright redness and blistering. It could have been a lot worse.

When he told Connor he'd like to stay home and heal that day, Connor understood, though he told him he'd miss him, which was nice to hear after the aching he woke up to. He would miss Connor as well, and he didn't approve of being disingenuous— especially with him— but if justice was to be had, he would take it into his own hands, in his own way.

It had been at least a couple of weeks since either of them had spoken to Rocco, and when he called him up, he expected a scornful greeting, begrudging them and their avoidance, but what he got instead was cheerful delight.

"I thought you guys might have, I don't know, died or something," he told him with laughter etching his voice.

Murphy found it difficult to argue. In a way, he felt like he did. "Nah. Still here, man. Still breathin' anyway. Listen, I need to ask ya a favor."

If it had been one thing Murphy kept in mind about Rocco, it was how much he hated the word "favor." To him, that meant doing a job and not getting paid for it, regardless of his kinship with the party involved. Rocco's attitude was no different here. "Uh… where's Connor?"

"At work. Come on, man, I need ya here."

"Now hold on. I didn't say 'no' just yet. But, you have to know how fucked up this is. You guys have spent all of your time together since shacking up—"

"Since we what?" replied Murphy with a choking gasp.

Rocco clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Murph… you heard me. Don't play dumb. That's my fuckin' job."

"I…" He didn't waste time arguing. Whatever Rocco implied, it was the truth. "All 'ight."

Rocco's impatience slipped away when Murphy acknowledged his guilt. "You going to tell me about that?"

"Now's not a good time."

"But it's true?"

"I'm not— I won't— I don't wanna talk about it, okay? I will later, but right now…"

A hearty chuckle coursed down the phone line. "You called me, and you don't want to talk. Okay. Whatever. What did you need, Murphy?"

Grateful that he had moved on from the subject, he got to the point. "I need ya to drive meh somewhere. Someone's house. I need to sort of… watch it for a while." During the pause that followed, he hoped Rocco didn't hang up on him.

"You need to stalk somebody?" replied Rocco with his usual sarcastic wit.

"No!" He scratched his head as he thought of the best way to explain without telling him his and Connor's story. It was tougher than he imagined. "Just de house. I need to watch it."

"You want me to drive you to a house so you can stare at it for a while? Murphy, no offense, but, what the fuck?"

"Roc, believe meh, I wish I could tell ya. I can't."

"What the hell have you and Connor been up to?!"

"Are ya gonna help meh, or not?"

A deep, agitated sigh, then: "I will. If you tell me the truth."

"About what…?"

"You and your brother."

When coming to this bizarre crossroads, Murphy was ambivalent. He did need a ride to the house, but the cost was too high, in his opinion. He didn't want to deny anything, but also didn't want to admit anything, even if their friend was correct in his suspicions. Rocco was a good companion to them— almost like family— and losing him would be too hard on the both of them. However, he seemed to already speculate what went on, and he still hadn't hung up on him, or disappeared completely.

Why did he need to know, anyway? What business was it of his what he and Connor did when the doors were closed and the curtains were drawn? Murphy didn't feel they owed Rocco an explanation of any kind. Did it really matter that they felt the way they did?

At long last, Murphy decided that if Rocco was a true friend, he would stick around no matter what he found out. "Ya really wanna know?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

"If I tell ya… ya can't be a bastard about it, okay?"

"Just fucking say it, Murph."

"Fine," he sighed, closing his eyes in the same way he did before anticipating the sting of the blazing iron to his skin, clenching and grinding his molars. "We… had sex."

"I KNEW IT!" His thick voice erupted into long, drawn out roars of immense cackles. Murphy cast a glare at him over the line, despite his not being able to visualize it. He thought he heard him slap his knee a few times. "Oh, God, Murph. Oh God." More laughter. Murphy debated hanging up the phone then. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No."

"How many times?"

Though Rocco had already been exposed to the evidence, Murphy hesitated revealing this tidbit to him. "A… few."

"How many is a few?"

He sighed. "A lot."

An uncomfortable pregnant pause phased between them, then Rocco lapsed into another fit of caws and hollers. "Oh dude, that is whacked! You know that?"

"Okay, now ya know, would ya shut de fuck up and help me, asshole?!"

"Hey, relax, okay? I'm sorry. It's just really funny."

"Well, it's not funny to meh."

Rocco killed the nitrous, and his humor dimmed. Unlike earlier, his tone was now civil. "Is it like… a serious thing you guys have, or…?"

Murphy had never asked himself this question. What exactly did he and Connor have together? It was more than brotherhood, and they were a lot more than drinking partners, but he never thought to give it a label until now. "I… I dunno. I guess."

"Wow… I…" A few jagged breaths followed, then a cough or two. "Um… yeah, so anyway, I'll be over in a minute."

Murphy hoped to high heaven that meant he would pretend the conversation never happened. "T'ank you."

Though he was uneasy at Rocco's lack of farewell when the line went dead, Murphy knew he was true to his word. He didn't want Rocco in danger, but would enjoy his company during his obscure adventure.

Rocco made a pit stop at the coffee shop before dropping by to pick him up, and Murphy was disappointed that he didn't get him anything. Coffee was something he thought he would need on this little trip, as he wasn't much of a breakfast eater and could use the energy.

When Murphy climbed into the passenger seat of the car, Rocco ogled his layers of bandage. "What the hell happened to your arm?" he asked, considering for a moment that he might not want to know the answer.

"Accident at work," sighed Murphy. It wasn't exactly a lie. "Dat's why I'm home today."

Rocco didn't pose any other questions, despite his inclining curiosity. He followed each of the directions that Murphy gave him, heading in the direction of the Summers house. "So," he struck up when they had reached a silent point. "Does Connor know you're doing this?"

"No. If it turns out to be no'tin'… and I hope it does… I won't have to tell him any'tin'."

"If what turns out to be nothing?"

"Sorry, Roc. Ya just gotta trust meh when I say I can't tell ya."

"Murphy…" Rocco groaned, pulling some of his long hair back as he kept his eyes on the road. "Why do I get the feeling you and Connor are in some kind of trouble?"

After dragging a hand across his mouth, he mumbled, "Not in trouble. Not yet."

He prodded his inner cheek with his tongue, looking to and from the road and Murphy. There was something he wanted to say, that he needed to say, but the elephant hanging out in the backseat was way too large, and never took its eyes off of them. Murphy passed the awkward time by smoking a cigarette, and Rocco turned on the radio, blared the volume, and avoided eye contact with his friend.

Arriving at their destination, Rocco pulled over to the curb where Murphy asked him to and parked. For the first time in several minutes, Rocco looked at him. "Now what?"

Murphy's answer was on the dry side. "We wait."

"For?"

"Someone to come home. If no one does… den I know."

Annoyed at his cryptic phrases, Rocco yelled, "What is going on?!" Murphy hushed him, and Rocco could only stare in disbelief. Then, nothing more was said on the matter.

Half an hour passed of complete and total silence, and Murphy's eyes never left the Summers house. No one came to the house, and no one left it at any point, but he didn't expect anything after only thirty minutes.

"Murph… this is really fucking boring, man."

He dropped his face into his sweating palm. "I know."

"I would have just let you borrow my car, you know. I could be at home… sleeping, or something."

"I like yer company."

A chill ran up Rocco's spine, and he leaned further toward the window and away from his companion. He waited another few moments before forcing out the following words: "You and Connor…" Murphy shut his eyes in humiliation. "You guys aren't into the whole… you know… group thing, are you?"

Puzzled, and embarrassed, he asked, "Group t'ing?"

"Like… you don't do threesomes, or anything."

"What de fuck are ya askin' me dat for?!"

"I'm just asking! Because, you know… I'm not into that."

"Fer fuck's sake, Roc. I love ya, but I don't love ya dat much."

"Good. 'Cause… I'm not gay."

Murphy hoped he heard the sarcasm in his next statement. "Course not. Goes wit'out sayin'." After this surreal conversation between them, Rocco became more relaxed around him, and finally dropped the subject.

Hours lagged by, and Rocco ended up passing out from boredom. Murphy, on the other hand, had never been more alert or focused in his life. Unfortunately, his cigarettes didn't last the day, but they helped when they were available. For the entire afternoon, he never saw anyone come to the house, leave the house, or even go anywhere near it, save for the mail carrier.

Once the mail was delivered, Murphy thought it his golden ticket. He hopped out of the car, slinking across the street, and opened the plastic mailbox, removing the stack of envelopes and flipping through them. All of the mail was addressed to Mister Summers, and none were made out to any other name. As strange as it was, Murphy didn't think it concrete enough. The trash bin standing at the end of the driveway might give him more than what he needed.

Grabbing the trashcan by the handle, Murphy dragged it up the drive, taking it to the side of the house where he wouldn't be seen. He popped the top off and ripped open the bag inside, then started digging inside of the treasure trove of personal information. All discarded envelopes were made out to David Summers and no one else; many receipts were for fast food restaurants and cheap diners and hardly any groceries; lastly, near the bottom rested a badly moisture-damaged pornographic magazine. Murphy didn't require much more proof.

Despite what Eric Malone claimed, David Summers was not married.

Why would he lie to us about that? wondered Murphy as he stuffed everything back into the bin. One possible reason, he figured, was to tug on their heartstrings. What was worse than a man who raped and murdered prostitutes? A married man that raped and murdered prostitutes. Eric knew they were Catholic, knew that they were against any and all blasphemies, but combining two at the same time would have strengthened their desire to kill.

Eric had little idea, however, that he had summoned such a desire in him. That desire was reserved for the very creature responsible for the atrocities, and David Summers had not been guilty.

Fueled with rage, the burn of betrayal and deceit, Murphy rushed back to the car with his heart singeing. Connor had to know. He had to know the truth. Eric Malone would not get away with this.

When he slammed the door, Rocco's limbs scattered, accompanied with a terrified gasp. "Dude! What the—"

"Take meh home, Roc. Connor and I have to talk."

During Murphy's eventful afternoon, Connor had trouble concentrating at work. Without Murphy there to compete with, his tempo slacked, as did his mood. Come break time, he stepped outside for a smoke, thinking of calling Murphy at home to check up on him, but his thoughts were soon interrupted by an unexpected visit from Eric, who came bearing coffee and a donut for him.

"Wow," Connor chuckled with gratitude. "T'anks."

Giving him a warm pat on the shoulder, Eric chimed, "You're very welcome, Connor." He scanned the doorway and the space around the back of the building. "Where's your brother?"

"Home," said Connor with his mouth full of fried bread. "His arm hurt too much."

Panic washed over Eric's face, his expression hardening. Connor stopped chewing at the sight of it, fearing the shadows that sprouted on his features. "Is that so?"

"A-aye…"

"Have you called him today?"

"No. Was goin' to, but figured he pro'lly needed de rest."

Eric, while wiping sweat from his brow, stuttered, "Maybe you should. That dog bite looked pretty nasty. Could get infected."

Connor's throat clenched and he sipped on some coffee to wash down the chunk of donut that slipped down. "Like… how bad we talkin'?"

"A wound that size? Pretty bad."

Connor passed his half-empty cup of coffee to Eric, asking him to hold it for him while he went inside to use the phone. Eric waited, his toes going numb, his spine chilling. If Murphy had not been home, he had a lot more to worry about than Connor's devotion. Anything Murphy did now worried him.

When Connor returned, he shrugged at him. "S'weird. He's not answerin'. I asked my boss if I could head home early. He said I could."

"Great. I'll drive you."

Eric's insistence disturbed Connor's skin, drawing forth goose bumps. "S'all 'ight. I can walk."

"Don't be silly. It's no trouble to drive you. Besides, the faster you reach Murphy, the better, right?"

He didn't like where this was headed. Eric seemed a little too eager, and with eagerness came desperation. "Aye…" Knowing if he turned him down, things might only get worse, so he agreed to take his offer. "Appreciate it." A sour flavor entered his mouth, which he swallowed.

Eric led him to his vehicle, which Connor hopped into, and during their journey, Eric seemed unconcerned with speed limit laws, or with the fear that hammered at Connor's nerves of an imminent accident.

"C-c-could ya slow down?" He also grinned to show he didn't intend to instigate.

Eric answered, "You're not concerned about him?" His smarmy tone didn't help matters.

"I… I am… but I'm also concerned about dyin' before I reach 'im."

For the remainder of the drive, Eric said nothing more to him, trying not to upset him any further. The moment Eric pulled up to the shoddy apartment building, Connor jumped out of the car. He turned back toward Eric when he saw him also stepping out. "You should pro'lly stay here," Connor warned. "I t'ink seein' ya will only make 'im feel worse."

Eric wasn't too keen on the idea of leaving Connor and Murphy alone together to speak behind his back, but he knew that he was right. He had to trust that Connor would open up to him later. "Fine. Let me know if you need anything."

Following a short nod, Connor jogged inside and rode the lift up to their floor. The second he pushed the door open, Murphy sat up from the bed he was lying on, and presented a weary smile.

"Yer home early," he said with mixed relief and nervousness. Connor sighed and closed his eyes.

"I called. Where were ya?"

Leaping off the bed, Murphy strolled over to him and lowered his voice, though he didn't need to. "I just got home a few minutes ago. I have to tell ya some'tin'." Connor waited, his ears tuned to his soft words. "I went to de house today. De one wit' de dog. Do you remember when Malone told us de guy was married?" Connor's eyelids had almost clamped together by this point. "Well he's fuckin' not. I looked t'rough his stuff, his mailbox and trash and t'ings. When I was inside de house, I didn't see any'tin' dat implied it."

An index finger crossed Connor's brow as he scratched it. "Ya went back dere?"

"Yeh. I just told ya dat."

"What de fuck were ya t'inkin'? What if dere were cops crawlin' around de place?!"

Exasperated, Murphy's jaw fell and nose scrunched. "Did ya hear any'tin' I just fuckin' said to ya?!"

Connor scratched his brow again, and he could taste Murphy's incubating impatience. "I heard ya, Murph."

This was not the way Murphy expected the conversation to go. "And?!"

"So ya rooted around in someone's bin all afternoon, and suddenly ya know de guy?"

Murphy put his foot down. "Connor! Malone's lyin' to us! I don't t'ink dat Summers guy did any of de t'ings Malone said he did! He told us dat shit to make us wanna kill 'im!"

Incredulous laughter seeped from Connor's tight mouth, and Murphy's eyes burned. "Ya can't be fer real, Murph. He pro'lly made a mistake when he t'ought de fella was married."

"Seriously?! Yer not dis stupid! I know ya aren't! What's he fuckin' done to ya?! Yer so fuckin' blinded by his transparent charms dat ya don't see de smokin' mirror he's wavin' at ya!"

Connor raised his palms to signal to his brother to calm himself. Murphy panted and paced the room as he shook his head. "Hold on. Let's talk about you fer a second. Ever since Eric and I started chattin', you've been gettin' angrier. I know what jealousy looks like." He pointed at Murphy.

"Ya t'ink I did dis because I was jealous?!" No other words could express just how surprised he was at Connor's accusations. "Maybe yer just fuckin' t'ick in the head! I'm tryin' to help! I'm yer fuckin' bro'ter! I'm… I'm more den dat! And yer takin' his side?!"

"Dere are no sides! Dat's what I'm tryin' to tell ya! Yer creatin' sides! Yer de one forcin' me to choose one, not Eric!"

Fighting back the waterfalls threatening to rush from his eyes, Murphy bit down on his lip and cheeks. "Connor, we were born toge'ter. We grew up toge'ter, we live toge'ter, we do…" For a brief moment, his eyes closed. "Literally every'tin' toge'ter. We will pro'lly die toge'ter, at least I hope we will. I… I'd never give my life for anyone else but you. Connor… you can't tell me dat ya believe dat sack o'shit over meh. Because if ya did… it means dat after every'tin', I mean no'tin' to ya."

"Don't. Don't even blame meh fer dis. Eric made a mistake and now ya wanna…" He stopped, laughed, then tossed his hands into the air. "Fuck, I don't even know what ya wanna do!"

"A mistake?! He's been doin' dis fer years! It wasn't a mistake! He lied, and yer a fuckin' eejit!"

"Fuck you!"

Murphy shook his head, smiling despite the tears. "Not anymore. Ya go run off to 'im if dat's what ya wanna do. Ya clearly like 'im more den meh, anyway. Just don't come runnin' back to meh if he tries to kill ya. I love ya more den any'tin'… but yer on yer fuckin' own now, bro."

Connor couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had never been "broken up" with before, but this is how it always looked in the movies, and it crushed him from the inside out. "Murph…"

"Just get de fuck outta here. Go back to yer little boyfriend." When Connor didn't leave, Murphy stomped toward him, shoving him out the door. "GO!" He slammed it in his face, and the wood cracked as it collided with the frame. Connor didn't leave just yet. He stood by the broken door, listening to the sound of his brother weeping.

"M'sorry, Murph," Connor whispered through the door. Murphy only carried on with his sobbing. Knowing he wouldn't be granted access to their apartment for the rest of the night, he took the lift back downstairs.

Eric saw the dejected young man shuffling toward his car and vacated the driver's seat with a perplexed expression. "Everything okay?"

He didn't give him an answer. Of all of the fights he had with Murphy over the years, none tore him to pieces as much as this did. He entered the vehicle, head low, eyes turned away, and he chewed on one of his fingernails in distress. Eric slid back in and shut the door, turning toward Connor.

"What happened?"

"We uh… we…" He couldn't bring himself to say it. Though it just occurred, it didn't make sense. The words "broke up" sounded so cinematic and overplayed in his mind, but they were the correct ones to use. Brothers didn't "break up." They also didn't do half the things he and Murphy did together. Unable to continue the thought, he clasped his face, mourning the death of his relationship.

"Oh, Connor…" Eric said while using his most affluent of replicated empathetic voices. "I'm sorry. Why don't you come back to my place and we can talk about it over some shots?" He gave him a fatherly pat to the back. With a wet sniffle, Connor nodded.

The drive to Eric's house seemed so much longer with how busy Connor's thoughts were. All he could think of was the look of hurt on Murphy's face and the sound of his betrayed voice. He didn't mean to hurt him. Never did, even when he joked around with him. Hurting Murphy was the last thing he'd ever want to do, even beyond murder. He loved nothing more, cared for nothing more than his brother, and he walked out on him. How could he do such a thing to someone he loved?

He went straight to the bar in the basement as soon as they arrived, and Eric followed him down, obtaining a glass from the cupboard. While standing behind the bar, he mixed a drink for Connor while he slumped over the bar top, silent and bereaved. He took the full glass from Eric and twisted it around in circles on the surface of the wood, keeping himself from breaking down.

"Did you two fight about something?" pried Eric, hunting for input.

"Aye," whimpered Connor.

"Well? Talk to me. Tell me about it."

"We fought about you."

Bingo, thought Eric, getting closer to the jackpot he craved. "Me? What about me?" Connor moaned, resting his forehead upon the bar's surface. He didn't wish to relive the conversation. Eric sighed, but kept a nurturing attitude. "Connor… I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

Did he even wish to discuss it at this point? All he wanted was company and booze. Still, he knew that if anyone could help, it was Eric. "He's just jealous of ya."

It wasn't his style, but Eric cackled at that. It only seemed to depress Connor more. "Sorry," he said, clearing his throat. "Jealous? Because you and I are friends?" Connor nodded, his facial features bunching up at the seams into another look of teary-eyed sadness. "Ah. I see. Come on, don't cry. It's all right."

How could he even say that? "It isn't." He took a sip of his drink, smacking his lips a few times. "We've never been like dis before. Not dis bad. Especially sober."

"What makes you think he's jealous of me? Did he tell you he was?"

"In so many words…" Another sip. He felt an odd tickle on his tongue and dragged it across his teeth to scratch it. "He doesn't trust ya. Tried to claim ya lied to us."

"Lied," repeated Eric, and the word echoed inside of Connor's ears. "About what?"

Connor sighed, still uncertain if telling Eric would help or hurt the situation. He wanted Murphy back, but he also wanted to know the truth. Confronting Eric might not get the best results. "He t'inks ya told us some'tin' about the most recent hit dat wasn't true, is all."

"And that was?"

"About his marital status. He t'inks he wasn't married."

Eric leaned over the bar, closer to Connor's face. He pulled back an inch or two. "What do you believe?"

"I…" Did he even know anymore? He wanted to believe Murphy, but knew things weren't that simple. "I believe ya just made a mistake. I tried to tell him dat, and…"

"And he didn't like it. Assumed you took sides. Am I right?" Connor nodded once again. Breathing deep for a few moments, Eric stepped around the bar and joined Connor in front of it, taking a seat beside him. "I don't blame Murphy for getting upset. I can see how bad things look from his end. I can also see how much he loves you and protects you. Do you want to know the truth, Connor?"

"O-of course…" He slinked downward in his seat, worrying a knife was ready to stab his back.

"I did make a mistake. A horrible mistake. I make them from time to time. You see, our guy wore a band on his ring finger. He must have kept it from a previous marriage that he might have cherished."

Cool beads of sweat collected over Connor's nose when he couldn't recall seeing a wedding band on the man's finger when they performed their ritual over him. "O-oh. I see. Happens all de time, eh?"

Eric put an arm around the quaking Connor's shoulders, tugging him against him for a hug. "Indeed. If you'd like me to speak to Murphy, I'd be more than happy to. I'd hate to see you so depressed."

"D-dat's all 'ight. Murph is… well, he just needs time, like wit' every'tin'."

The tension within the room had scaled, and Eric could sense it. Something else was on Connor's mind that he was keeping locked away from him. "Anything else you want to tell me?"

Connor nearly collapsed from the pressure. Eric's grip on him was doting and fond, but his look was haunting and fierce. "Aye." He swallowed. "I t'ink maybe we should… quit." Eric's touch didn't seem so soft anymore. "Dis isn't fer us. Some'tin' about it feels wrong. I can't put my finger on it, exactly… but it's just all wrong."

"Is this because of what happened with Murphy and the dog?"

He was grateful that he was the one to bring it up. It meant that he was on the defensive. "Somewhat. I don't want to have to press a fuckin' iron to my bro'ter's skin again. I don't want to hear him scream like dat. It's too much fer meh."

When Eric's arm slipped from Connor's back, Connor flinched. "That's not the only reason, is it, Connor? You're backing out because you're a coward."

"I… I'm not!"

"I've warned you both from the beginning that this is a serious job. You take risks, even when everything goes according to plan—and as you saw, sometimes things don't go according to plan. That's the way it goes. You either take it like a man, or you run away with your tail between your legs."

"But, I…"

"And you want to go with the latter option."

"Wait a second, here! I'm not afraid fer my own life! I'm afraid fer my bro'ter's!"

"All the same, Connor. Murphy is a very big part of your life, and thus, you're basically one person." He rose up from his stool and sauntered behind him, and Connor spun his seat around to keep his back against the bar. "Connor, I'm not being insincere when I say that… I'm truly sorry for the pain I might have caused you. Perhaps you're partially correct when you say that this isn't the type of work for you both. But I can't deny that I feel otherwise. Something inside of you, and in Murphy, is resting, waiting for the perfect boiling point. I can sense it about as well as I can sense fear in a man who has realized his end is drawing near. Whether your time as a murderer is meant to happen now or later, it is there, dwelling within you. You just won't let that instinct awaken. You bury it like a dog buries a bone. You know you're going to dig it up eventually, and you can't wait for the moment when you do, but you're afraid that if you do, someone else will discover it."

Whatever Eric was rambling about, Connor had no patience for. He regretted coming over now, and only wanted to talk things through with his brother, mend the wound between them, and listen to what he had to say like he should have done in the first place. "Maybe. But I don't t'ink I like de way we're goin' about it. It feels so gruesome."

"It always does at first. I told you, you get used to it. And eventually… people aren't people anymore. They're targets… just like at the range."

He couldn't handle holding back what he really wanted to address any longer. The way Eric now spoke to him clued him in on his dishonesty. If his targets weren't people, then what ever made him believe that Eric would assume him and Murphy as people? "Did ya know de guy had a dog before ya sent Murph in dere?"

Floored that Connor changed the subject so abruptly, he was caught off guard. Backed into a corner, he knew it would be no use to lie about it. "I knew."

"Did ya know he'd find it?"

"I figured he would."

Sliding his beverage aside, Connor leaned over the bar, now feeling a bit on the aggressive side. "Did ya know it'd attack 'im?"

In a natural pose of self-defense, Eric folded his arms over his chest. "It's a bit more complicated than that, Connor. Sometimes, when you look at a situation—"

"DID YOU KNOW?!"

Spineless, perhaps, was not something Eric was correct in assuming Connor was. He called him a coward, and usually when he accused it of someone, he was right. Now, he had seen brimstone so bright in his flaming irises that even he, a contracted killer, feared them.

Eric tried his very best to practice a little diplomacy. "I'm sorry Murphy got hurt, Connor, as I'm sure you are. I didn't intend for it, I really didn't. And that's the truth."

All trust that Connor once had for Eric had now begun to slip away. "What about de door? De locked door? Did ya know it'd be locked?"

"Connor…"

"Tell meh!"

"No. I didn't." He wiped the underside of his nose, and Connor's glare perpetuated.

"Where's our payment?"

Eric snorted. "What payment? You two didn't do anything last time. I had to do it myself, remember?" When Connor looked ready to leap over the bar and strangle him, he brought his voice down. "I'm sorry. I want to pay you boys. But you don't get paid for doing nothing. Five grand isn't a lot of cash for the job in the first place."

Connor's eyes popped. "Five grand?" he repeated.

Eric retraced his steps, thinking back on what he just said. Did he really say five grand? He definitely counted it up correctly in his head, but he was sure the words "two grand" came out of his mouth. "I didn't say five grand."

"Ya did. I fuckin' heard it."

Eric chuckled, hoping that mocking him would get him off his case. "I think you're trying to pull a fast one on me, Connor."

Tame was something Connor no longer felt he could be. Leaping out of his stool, he climbed on top of the bar and leaped over it, grabbing the front of Eric's shirt. "Ya fuckin' snake!"

For someone his age, Eric's heart was in peak condition, but he hadn't felt it palpitate in the way it was now in several years. "Connor! Calm down! If I said five grand, it's not what I meant. I make two grand a pop every time."

"I don't believe ya," growled Connor, shoving his cohort against the wall, pinning him there. In his youth, he overpowered him. "Murph was right, wasn't he? Ya fuckin' lied. About every'tin'!"

Not seeing the use in denying it at this rate, Eric released some lighthearted chuckles. "You're not angry about my deception. You're angry that you were both stupid enough to believe me."

"I ought to fuckin' blow ya away, right now."

"Go ahead. Give the boys downtown at the station a show. Give them your sex tape while you're at it. I bet Greenly would love that one."

"Shut de fuck up."

"Connor… I know you better than you think I do. You are me when I was your age. I didn't fit in with the rest of the world. Wasted most of my time drinking. Took care of my idiot brother. I wanted more out of life, and… I got it. All I wanted was to share that with someone I thought deserved it. I mean it when I say I didn't intend to harm you." He flinched when Connor's grip on him tightened, and he knocked the back of his head against the brick wall. "I was deceitful about many things, it's true. I won't deny that. But I wasn't lying when I said I liked you. You are… you were… my friend."

His balled-up fists loosened somewhat, but he didn't release him. "You were mine, too. And dat makes it even more painful. I t'ought we had some'tin' great goin' here, de t'ree of us. I wanted dat to be true. I wanted me and Murph to have… someone to lead us. I had my doubts, but I didn't t'ink de dream would be killed so quickly."

"I know what's in your heart, Connor. You know, too. And so, we've come to the point of no return, haven't we? As old as I am, and despite how mundane and routine my life has become, I still cherish it. I know you wish to kill me, but I don't want that. I'm sure even you don't want that." Connor had his doubts. "So… what must we do to go our separate ways that will leave us both alive?"

"I…" It was then that he wished Murphy was with him. He was better at making such decisions. "I'm not sure I can. How can we know fer sure ya won't come after us if I leave ya alive?"

"You won't. This is a bit of a stretch after what I've done… but you'd have to trust me."

With a shake of the head, Connor's eyes retained their fierceness. "Fuck no."

Despite the circumstances, Eric's heart split in two. Connor had become so much to him in the time they knew each other. He told him more things about his life than he had told his own therapist. To kill Connor would be tougher than cutting sheet metal with a butcher knife. Though he knew it was something he had to do, he didn't want to see his friend meet his demise.

"Then… I'm sorry, Connor. Please try to understand why it has to be this way." Connor shoved him harder against the wall to prevent him from attacking him, but he couldn't see Eric's hand reach into his pocket. By the time Eric unfolded the switchblade, Connor didn't have time to spy it, or react to it. With one swift swoop of the wrist, Eric swiped the blade's edge across Connor's left brow, intending to go for his eye, but missing his mark.

Hollering in pain, Connor staggered back and covered the fresh cut with his hand as he was blinded by the fountain of blood pouring from the deep incision across the hairs of his eyebrow. Once free of Connor's grasp, Eric wrestled him to the ground, pinning him down with his knees. Connor batted at him with flailing hands, but his vision was obscured by the pouring blood that covered his eye.

Eric wanted to overpower Connor, but kill him he did not. He would merely incapacitate him the best he could manage, and find an alternate means of disposal, one where he wouldn't have to witness the act. Connor shrieked, tried to buck him off, but Eric held him down while reaching for the tall bottle of whiskey sitting on the bar. Once he seized it, Connor only got a small, blurry glimpse of it in his hand before he blacked out.

Come nightfall, Murphy's rage had simmered, only for his anxiety to inflate. Connor hadn't come back all evening, and he worried for his safety, no matter how angry he was with him. Connor did like to go walking alone once in a while, but never for this long. He was with Malone, and he knew it, and that's when he feared the worst: that Connor was in danger.

How could I just let him go like that? Murphy asked himself, distraught. There was no time to dwell on it now. If Connor had been in danger, every second he spent pacing the loft was a second wasted. Rocco would give him a ride, especially if he told him it was a life or death situation, and he made a beeline for the phone on his next pass across the room.

His fingers only pressed two numbers down when he heard the door handle turn. Hoping to see Connor on the other end, his heart skipped and he set the phone back down on its cradle before reaching for the door.

He didn't even get it open a slight crack before it was shoved inward, and a shadowed figure entered. Murphy, stunned to see Malone standing there before him without Connor at his side, panicked.

"Where's Connor?!" he shouted through quickened breaths.

"Don't worry," Eric eased, shutting the door behind him. "He's alive. We had a little bit of a… falling out."

"What'd ya do wit' 'im?!"

"You'll find out."

Murphy backed away, toward the wall farthest from him, but Eric gained on him. It was then that he noticed the cloth clenched in his palm. He made a dash for the fire escape, prying the window open, but Eric yanked him back inside by his pant leg, jerking him down to the floor. Murphy spit into his face, but it was only a meager distraction to Eric, who climbed atop him and shoved the cloth to his mouth and nose with force. Murphy kicked and fought him for a while, but eventually collapsed.

Now that he achieved what he came there to do, he hauled Murphy over his shoulders and carried him out the door, preparing to reunite him with his brother one final time.