All sound fades away. Using the suppressor, I push the door inward.
The lamp on Raymond’s side is on. I wonder if they did it for dramatic effect. Or was it more chummy, teasing, taunting? Like leaving on a porch light when you want the neighbors to know you’re home? Courteous, almost.
Look at our work. Admire it. Tell Lukas we said hello.
Raymond is in the bed. The duvet is pulled up to his chin, but there are two holes in the center of the white cotton, the size of dimes, perfectly placed an inch apart over the sternum. Above the duvet, between his collarbones and his slack lower lip, a third hole sits dead-center on the forehead, with the burn-ring of a contact shot smudged around it.
The pillow behind him is no longer white. It’s soaked red.
It’s beautiful work. As clean and profe
