He harnessed himself with a glass of an angular wine. It hit him at right places as he kept taking sips at regular intervals.
Was it the work pressure or memories of love, he couldn’t tell.
He ran his hand on one of the photographs.
“Why did you do this? Why?” Cried Mark in an apoplectic attack as he gulped the remnants of his drink in one stroke.
Visuals of her lying in a pool of blood flashed across his moist eyes. It pinched him hard, both the visuals and the liquid.
The incessant ringing of his phone brought him back from his trance.
“On my way”, he answered curtly, checking his gun for bullets and was out in a flash.
Duty beckoned him as always just like that time. A mole was eventually found and he was ready to pull the trigger again.