DESPERATE

40

The living room felt heavy with anticipation, time dragging like molasses. Reluctantly, they stepped forward, each person weighed down by their own inner turmoil. The idea of kissing Sam's lifeless body and offering late apologies was repulsive, but the stern look in Hank's eyes and the sharp butcher knife he gripped tightly left them no alternative.

Cyrie readied herself for the ordeal that lay before her. She knew she must be the first to shatter the oppressive silence and carry out the solemn act of kissing the forehead of a deceased man she had never truly known. She advanced toward the couch where the body lay in eternal repose. Bending forward, she found herself mere inches from Sam's pallid, deathly cold forehead. An odd, pungent odor invaded her senses, nearly causing her to retch.

She had only known Sam as an officer who was about to arrest her for unknowingly stealing a car. She hadn't realized the car was stolen, and now that ignorance weighed heavily on her. Standing there, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her gaze locked onto the lifeless form sprawled on the couch, she found herself struggling with a whirlwind of emotions.

Peering through the dirty window, Randall wanted to yell out to Cyrie, "Don't do it!" But he couldn't make a sound. He had to remain hidden. All he could do was watch, filled with worry, and hope that Cyrie wouldn't do something foolish as he held his breath.

Cyrie retreated from the couch, her face etched with disbelief.
"We shouldn't have to kiss the dead man's forehead and say sorry to show respect. He's gone; it's not like he can hear us now.”

Hank, consumed by sorrow and fury, waved the butcher knife menacingly. "You will show my brother the respect he deserves!" he bellowed. "His name was Sam, not 'the dead man.' You disregarded his life, and now you can't even summon the decency to honor his memory as I've asked."

In a daring move, Kenzo stepped forward, placing himself between them, careful to dodge the blade. "Stop, no more violence," he urged. "I'll do what you ask; I'll kneel, say sorry to Sam, and yes, I'll kiss his forehead for all of us. Let's not let this get worse. No one else needs to get hurt.”

Hank remained distraught, seeking explanations. "I still don't get why you killed Sam, tried to set him and the car on fire. Who struck him first? I need to know, and whoever did it should be apologizing to him.”

Abbey faced Hank, her tone subdued, "I'm responsible. It is what it is. We can't bring your twin back. Release us. Go bury him and move on with your life.”

Hank's voice echoed with a chilling accusation, "Heartless, bitch!" As he swung his arm in anger, a rock suddenly smashed through the window. The glass shattered, sending shards flying like glittering rain across the room.Everyone stood frozen, too shocked to move.

"Who smashed my window?" Hank's voice boomed, reverberating off the walls of the now silent room. He stomped over to the shattered glass.

Meanwhile, Todd's hand quietly inched towards an ashtray teetering on the edge of a table. With a swift, calculated motion, he hurled it at Hank, the object slicing through the air before colliding with the back of Hank's head. A sharp pain shot through Hank's head, his vision swimming as the room spun wildly. Despite the disorientation, he whirled around, his eyes ablaze with fury, searching for the culprit. "The coward who dared to hit me will regret it!" he roared.

Todd stood there, his lips curled into a smug grin, seemingly amused by Hank's fury. Hank, in a swift gesture, lifted the butcher knife, its edge shimmering threateningly.

Amidst the chaos, Abbey seized a wooden chair, her fingers wrapping tightly around its frame. With a warrior's cry, she swung it at Hank with all her might, the chair splintering into a thousand pieces upon impact, each shard dancing in the air before settling like fallen leaves. The force of her strike sent Hank tumbling to the ground, the butcher knife slipping from his grasp. In a cruel twist of fate, he landed upon the upturned blade, its sharp edge piercing through him with sickening ease. Motionless, he lay there, a pool of darkness enveloping his form.