21. (We're All Looking for a Little Piece.)

A moist, rotting room, full of thugs. Sam stands in the door, paused mid-stride as he enters. It's his room. What little goods he owns have been smashed--some still in the process. The urge to lash out wells up within him, but fear overtakes him and Sam turns to run. In seconds, the thugs are on him, beating him, mocking him. He lashes out when he can, but the beating continues until Sam can barely move. The thugs exit, jeering. Sam moans. His typewriter is destroyed, his work, his livelihood set alight and burning. He screams in anger.

Another moist room, less ramshackle than the previous. Eileen, getting on in years, pushes back a mop of gray hair and stares at Jessica, wide-eyed in shock. Her eyes are blue, blood-shot. The sounds of Sam's beating reverberate through the floor.

You call that music? You are a scary little thing, aren't you? It's no wonder they left--oh, don't make that face. Drink your tea, girl. He's better off if them finish him--you are, too. The two of you... quite a pair. He knew they'd be down there, you know. But he had to check. S'why he came up here with you. Wanted you to be safe. Must feel alien for you, huh? Your parents never felt like that, s'why they left, I bet. Stop looking at me like that, you little wretch. I didn't ask for you, I didn't want you. If he doesn't come back for you, it's off to social-services. I'm not like him--not a fool. S'probably why he's getting roughed up now, and I'm brat-sitting a lunatic like you. Oh yes, girl, I heard the stories. Gun must've felt mighty heavy in your hands, huh? Did you watch them bleed? Did he look scared, watching you kill them?

She pours another cup of tea, making sure to drop in an ice-cube so the tea is not too hot. The girl starts to look drowsy, and Eileen brings her to a ratty sofa and lays her down, letting the child rest. Chatting away the whole time, admonishing the girl, mocking the man downstairs. She pulls a blanket over Jessica to make sure she's warm, then sits in the recliner opposite, watching the exhausted child sleep. After a moment she rifles through the girl's belongings and retrieves the gun--right as it enters her rant--and with an uncommon comfortability she removes the clip, pops the bullets out one at a time, and replaces the now-empty clip in the gun. The weapon is then placed back where she found it, in the pocket of Jessica's large jacket. Eileen returns to the recliner, watching the child sleep.