Logan pulled the trigger. His hand was stone; the trigger finger would not move. He tried to fire, could feel muscles lock in conflict in the hand. His face went gray; the hand would not obey him. He saw Jessica’s face and only Jessica’s face. It was a white oval against the dark building, her eyes filled with pain and accusation. Logan slumped back against the wall, slid down it loosely. He was making sounds. But not words. The Gun dangled limply in his hand.
