(Journal of Lamentations) The boy looked human for the first time, a whimper escaped his lips, he pushed long black bangs from his eyes and stepped behind the counter. He was ignoring Chad completely, which suited Chad just as completely. Standing there for what seemed an eternity, the boy finally knelt by the bloody body, prodded it with the gun, raised and looked nervously out the windows to the parking lot. "Oh man," he groaned. His gaze turned to Chad. The jig was up. No escape this time. He closed his eyes and waited for the blast. None came. The kid stripped the wiring from the register, hoisted it from the counter and left with it on his hip. His heart, which had been residing in his throat slowly slid back into place, but it didn't stay there long. When he glanced toward the bloody body, there was someone standing over it. It was the man, but different. He looked better, less disheveled, and his apron was clean. No, not just clean — bright — perfect. “Who are you?” he asked.
