Second Shot

And ultimately I thought about Reynolds and I replayed, as I’d done so many times since that night, the way he’d made his decision to try to kill me. Sean was right, to a point, because the moment Reynolds had taken the gun away from Ella’s head and started to turn it in my direction, there was only going to be one possible outcome. One of us was going to die.

But that didn’t take into account the fact I’d gone into that room with the image of Reynolds attacking me at the apartment burning fiercely in my mind. I hadn’t wanted his meek surrender. I’d wanted his blood.

So I’d gone in there ready to take him out, not face him down. I’d known he was a natural predator and he’d taken one look at me and he’d decided I was easy prey, as I’d suspected he might. But at the end of the day, it was purely luck that he’d reacted in such a way that justified my actions, fractionally after the event.

Matt had asked me why I’d removed the suppressor from the gun before we went into the stockroom and I’d told him it was purely to save those extra seven ounces, but that wasn’t the whole story. It was entirely plausible and nobody had questioned it since, but I knew if I’d gone in there and shot Reynolds with the suppressor still attached, I would have had a much harder time convincing anyone it was self-defense, rather than assassination.

So, still I ask myself the question: Did I kill him because I had no choice? Or because I made one?