Clap. Clap. Clap.
From the alley entrance. A man walked in, features with a family resemblance to Raphael's, but older, more lived-in, the weight of more years in the lines of the face.
He crouched beside the boy and met his eyes at the same level.
"Father, I... I..."
Raphael looked at his father without direction, and the older man put a hand on his shoulder.
"The first time. Taking a life." He looked at the man on the ground. "Look at him, Raphael. You'll do this many more times. Remember the weight of it. Only by doing that will you understand why you kill."
The young Raphael looked down with something like numbness. The gaunt-faced addict had both hands pressed against the puncture in his throat, eyes going opaque, mouth hanging open, his body still working through its convulsions.
