‘Abashed the devil stood…’ a voice, much like his own, echoed the poem in his head. A voice with the awful distortion of a sickness that of a man who takes pleasure into inflicting pain upon the innocent. A voice, out of the darkened abyss that were the memories of his final moments on earth. Eric stood by the round, broken window of apartment 1929. Uninhabited, save for a cat named Gabriel. The man in black stood before it and looked out down into the city. Remembering how its crude personality used to give it character. Now that was lost. It was a grotesque sight. Like a violent, bloodthirsty, murderous animal that needed to be put down. A shift of his boot made the broken pieces of glass scratch at the floor and squeak and shriek in inanimate pain— ’and felt how awful goodness is.’

        A second noise came, a feathery dive. The bird flew in through the circular frame.

  ⊰ HEY, ERIC. YOU’VE GOT VISIT. ⊱

           The crow said. Posing itself on top of a metal bar, a pipe, crossing the ceiling.

       Eric focused downward, looking at nothing in particular, attempting to listen, to sense whomever had walked into the wrong place, at the wrong time.

      “I’d offer refreshments, but I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting anyone.”