"The one with the ghost or the Diablo agents that locked us in a music room?"
It was an annoying thought that screamed over everything else in his mind at unfortunate moments. When he gets back to the car and goes to start the engine, it comes out at him again like a beast in hiding. It plays over and over until it's thundering in his head. He's nearly ready to claw his eyes when it finally breaks.
He chews his bottom lip as he crosses the damp and lamp-lit city, hand tightening anxiously on the wheel. He's doing his duty. He's the right man for it, he's always been. He's
the stronger one, and when this is all done, they'll see that. Why sweat bullets now? The woman was an idiot and the kid was too tied up in her own emotional mess, not like she really knew him anyhow, the screw up had done that up real good. Made his own mess.
He was going to fix it all right, like it should be. All that misery over the years would mean something because he was a man that had climbed, clawed
to the top. Literally? He chuckles to himself. He'd say that, he'd get his chance.
There's a dress, a picture, stuck in his mind. It's a fading image, he adjusts the mirror and the glow of the lights behind him blinds it from view. He's got this.
He smiles at himself in the mirror.