The rain did not stop. It fell in a gray sheet, blurring the world into a watercolor of mud and rust. I sat in the back of the taxi, watching my hand. It was trembling. The skin over my knuckles was pale, stretched tight, as if the bones beneath were trying to push out. I looked at the clock on the dashboard. Fourteen minutes to the station. I had the ticket in my pocket. I had the bag. I had the name.

My name is Thomas. I work in accounts. I do not talk much. I am quiet. People think I am cold. They are wrong. I am just careful. I keep my edges sharp so they do not know where to cut. But today, my edges were dull. I felt heavy. I felt broken.

The taxi driver did not look at me. He looked at the wipers. They beat against the glass. *Thwack. Thwack.* A steady rhythm. My heart beat faster. It was a different rhythm. It was the rhythm of a clock counting down.

I thought of Eleanor. She was my best friend. For ten years, we had been together. We shared everything. We shared our secrets. We shared our pain. She was the only person who knew the truth. The truth about the job. The truth about the money. The truth about the lies.

I had lied. I had lied to her. I had taken the credit. I had signed the papers. I had let them take her. I told her it was for the best. I told her they would not hurt her. I told her I was protecting her. I believed it. I wanted to believe it.

Now, I was going to fix it. I was going to kill the man who hurt her. His name was Mr. Vane. He was the boss. He was the one who gave the orders. He was the one who smiled while he broke people. I had his location. I had the weapon. It was a small gun. It looked like a toy. It was not a toy.

The taxi slowed down. We were in the city center. The buildings were tall and dark. They looked like tombs. The lights were yellow and sick. I pulled the bag closer. It was cold against my thigh. I could feel the weight of the steel. It was heavy. It was real.

"Here," the driver said. He did not look at me. He just pointed. "That is the hotel."

I paid him. I gave him a large tip. I did not want him to remember me. I did not want him to see my face. I opened the door. The rain hit me. It was cold. It soaked through my coat. I walked into the lobby.

The lobby was empty. The carpet was red. It looked like blood. The air smelled of dust and old paper. A receptionist sat behind a high desk. He was an old man. He had thin white hair. He looked at me. His eyes were small and bright.

"Can I help you?" he asked. His voice was soft. It was like the sound of dry leaves.

"Room 402," I said. I did not look at him. I looked at the floor.

"Your name?"

"Thomas."

He typed on the keyboard. The keys clicked. *Clack. Clack.* Like the wipers. Like my heart. He handed me the key. It was a brass key. It was cold.

"Upstairs," he said. "Left at the end of the hall."

I took the key. I walked to the elevator. The doors were mirrored. I saw my reflection. I did not know the face. The eyes were wide. The mouth was open. The skin was gray. I looked like a ghost. I looked like a monster. I turned away. I did not want to see him.

The elevator went up. The numbers changed. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. The doors opened.

The hallway was long. The walls were dark green. The light was dim. It flickered. It buzzed. I walked. My shoes made no sound. I felt light. I felt empty.

Room 402. The number was brass. It was scratched. I put the key in the lock. It turned. I pushed the door open.

The room was small. There was a bed. There was a chair. There was a table. The curtains were closed. The air was stale. I walked to the window. I pulled the curtains back.

The city was below. It was a web of lights. It was a web of life. I did not see life. I saw darkness. I saw the place where Vane lived.

I sat on the bed. I took the gun out of the bag. I held it in my hands. It was heavy. It was cold. I checked the chamber. It was empty. I loaded it. I put the magazine in. I racked the slide. The sound was loud. It echoed in the small room.

I stood up. I walked to the door. I opened it. I looked into the hallway.

It was empty. The light flickered. The floor was quiet. I walked out. I walked down the hall. I turned left. I walked down the stairs. I walked to the lobby.

The receptionist was still there. He was reading a book. He did not look up. I walked past him. I walked out the door.

The rain was still falling. I walked to the street. I looked for the car. It was a black sedan. It was parked by the curb. The lights were off. The engine was off.

I got in. I started the car. I drove. I did not know where I was going. I drove fast. The wipers beat. *Thwack. Thwack.*

I drove to the park. It was a dark park. The trees were tall. The grass was wet. I stopped the car. I sat in the driver's seat. I looked at the gun. It was on the passenger seat. It looked small. It looked useless.

I thought of Eleanor. I saw her face. She was smiling. She was happy. She was safe. I had protected her. I had done the right thing. I had killed the monster.

Wait.

I stopped. My heart stopped.

I had not killed him.

I had not been to his room. I had gone to my room. I had come out. I had left. I had not killed him.

I had not done anything.

I looked at my hands. They were shaking. The gun was heavy. It was a burden. I had not protected her. I had abandoned her. I had left her to die. I had left her to him.

I had lied. I had lied to myself. I had told myself I was brave. I was a coward. I was a weak man. I was nothing.

The rain hit the car. *Tap. Tap. Tap.* It was a drumbeat. It was a countdown.

I got out of the car. I ran. I ran to the hotel. I ran to the door. I ran up the stairs. I ran to room 402.

I burst in. The room was empty. The bed was made. The curtains were closed. The air was still.

I looked at the table. There was a note. It was on a piece of paper. The handwriting was neat. It was elegant. It was not my handwriting.

It was Vane's handwriting.

I picked it up. My hands were cold. The paper was damp.

I read it.

"Thomas," it said. "You are late."

I read it again.

"You came here to kill me. But you did not bring me. You brought yourself. You brought your fear. You brought your weakness. You are not a killer, Thomas. You are a victim. And I am your jailer."

I dropped the note. It fell to the floor. It was wet. The ink blurred.

I looked at the mirror. I saw my face. The eyes were wide. The mouth was open. The skin was gray. I was not a ghost. I was not a monster. I was a man. I was a man who had failed.

I went to the window. I looked out. The city was bright. It was beautiful. It was cruel.

I went back to the table. I picked up the gun. I put it in the bag. I put the bag on my shoulder.

I walked out. I walked down the stairs. I walked to the lobby. The receptionist was gone. The desk was empty. The book was on the floor.

I walked out the door. The rain was falling. I did not care. I walked to the car. I got in. I started the engine.

I drove. I drove fast. I drove to the edge of the city. I drove into the dark.

I did not go home. I did not go to Eleanor. I knew I could not see her. I knew I had lost her.

I drove until the gas ran out. I stopped the car. The engine ticked. It cooled. The silence was loud.

I sat in the dark. I listened to the rain. I listened to the wind. I listened to my heart.

It was slow. It was heavy. It was real.

I had not conquered the monster. I had not destroyed the mirror. I had looked into it. I had seen the truth.

The truth was simple. The justice system was not just. It was a machine. It ate people. It chewed them up. It spat them out. I was part of the machine. I was a gear. I was a wheel. I was a part.

I could not stop the machine. I could not break the gear. I could only stop.

I opened the car door. I walked into the rain. I walked into the dark. I walked into the night.

I did not look back. I did not look ahead. I just walked.

The rain washed my face. It washed my eyes. It washed my soul.

I was clean. I was empty. I was free.

I was alone.

I walked. I walked. I walked.

The world was quiet. The world was gray. The world was mine.

I did not speak. I did not cry. I did not scream.

I just walked.

The night was long. The night was cold. The night was endless.

I walked.