You fuck,” Sokowski snarled, wincing from the tattered hole in his side. He pressed a hand over the wound, but blood seeped through his fingers and streamed down his leg.

Carl held his rifle on him for a moment, then started to moan. “I didn’t want none of this.” He shook his head at Sokowski. “You fucker. All my life I did what you said. Did all those things because I thought you would like me more. I let you do all the thinking, but I’m done with that now.”

“Like you? Jesus Christ, Carl. I just put up with your shit. Fucking like you?”

Carl tried not to but started to cry anyway. He hated Sokowski. Hated every part of him. The anger, the selfishness, the pure mean that spewed out of his mouth. But Carl hated himself even more for letting Sokowski bully and taunt him all these years. What kind of man lets himself get pushed around like a damn coward?

The rifle trembled in Carl’s hands. Tears flowed as he tried to pull the trigger and end all this. He wanted to pull the trigger. Wanted to watch Sokowski die. The bastard didn’t deserve anything better.

“You don’t got what it takes, Carl. You ain’t nothing but a gutless piece of shit.”

Carl gazed over at Mr. Bennett, all blown to hell. Then he looked at Mrs. Bennett, slumped on the couch and leaking blood. Carl knew if he didn’t pull the trigger, Sokowski would finish what he’d started—killing Danny, then probably even Mrs. Bennett. After all the years of wrongs he did with Sokowski, this was his chance to redeem himself, to finally do the right thing.

He stared back at Sokowski, and the man panted like a rabid dog. Carl knew he’d be going to jail anyhow. No way around that now. Kelly and the kids would be left to fend for themselves. Maybe they’d be better off without him. He was a lousy husband, and a crummy father. With him still in the picture, little Ben would probably end up doing all the same stupid shit that Carl did.

“What’s the matter, Carl? Don’t have the balls to do it?”

Carl’s finger trembled over the trigger. Just an ounce of pressure and it would all end. He prayed to a God he didn’t believe in to give him the courage.

Carl finally lowered the rifle. He couldn’t kill anybody else—not even Sokowski. “You’re right, Mike. I am a gutless piece of shit.” He kept his eyes locked on Sokowski’s and stuck the barrel of the rifle under his own chin. “And we’re both gonna rot in hell.” Carl pulled the trigger, and the back of his head was obliterated with a sharp boom.

Sokowski stood on quivering legs and tried to stop the blood from vacating his body. “You stupid fuck.”

He looked at Danny, laughed once, then fell forward into the glass coffee table. He went through the sheet of glass, slicing open his face and neck, and was finally still.