"...I did my best not to think about what I was trying to do. Turning into the street, looking at the entrance to Hope's apartment, my breath was almost taken away. A tall angel of death was standing next to the door. When I say an angel of death, I do not mean a metaphor. He was dressed in a black robe, wearing a mask of a smiling skull and holding a scythe. Wearily leaning on the wall next to the door, with his head slumped backwards, his appearance was talking of such profound exhaustion, that despite of everything I thought of who and what this man might be, I could not help but feel a stream of empathy for him. This emotion passed quickly, but it was intense enough to make me forget all of my fear. I slowly approached him; in each step the weight of the gun in my pants renewed and increased my tension. ..."
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