It was silent, as Damien wiped the knife of prints and his hand of blood. He gently laid Pram’s hands in his lap, and pushed back a lock of hair just one last time.

He stepped out of the care and popped th trunk to retrieve the luggage, pulling out a passport from the carry-on’s front pocket. The new passport flipped open stiffly in his hands. A name that was not his own was printed there, just like the last, and the one before that.

This time, however, the name pushed a needle into the back of his heart. He hoped to not go by it for long.

He headed toward the elevator with luggage in tow, but suddenly stopped. Damien patted at the pockets of his jacket and pants and the tears welled in his eyes again. He turned back towards his car and, wrapped in a racking sob, laughed.

He’d forgotten the plane ticket on the dash. Just this once.

*

Damien passed through check-in and security in a daze, his head muddled and dizzy from hearing Pram’s name in their mouths. He wished he was already on the next job, so he may never hear it again.

He stepped out of the restroom and onto the moving walkway, rubbing at the palm of his hand. It stung from his zealous scrubbing. He’d cleaned it off in the car, then again at the restroom sink. It was raw and burning, yet he could still feel the tack of Pram’s blood there. He wondered if he would ever be able to wash it away.

The moving walkway pulled him down the hall at a snail’s pace, but Damien could not muster up the strength to walk. He thought if he tried, he might fall and never get up again. As Damien stood, waiting, he looked into long mirror than ran beside him. His hair was still ruined, a nest from Pram’s rough affection.

He turned away.