Epilogue

Five years later, the man limped slowly to the cabinet and drew forth an old weapon he had always kept inside. A Glock 17; the last item of an old friend.

Leaning onto his cane, he slowly limped back to his chair and sat down, placing the firearm on his lap. Even as he stared at it, all the times he had spent with his friend flooded back but most of all, what came back...was devastated and betrayed look his friend had on his face...when he, himself had killed him.

Softly, he leaned back into the padded back on his chair and lifted a revolver to the side of his head, staring off into space, "You were right, George. I remembered. That day, I lost not only a dear friend but also my ability to forget...then, two years later, I lost my job. Today, I lose my life.”

Saying so, Jim pulled the trigger.