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     I see her. God, but I see her. Years have passed, but the clenching in my gut feels as sharp as it ever did. She's on the subway. Going home, I figure. She looks tired.
     Until she sees me.
     A split second, then her subway pulls away, but I see it in her eyes. Not fear, not hate, but the look I remember—that look from the past.
     Until now, I'd been decisive. I was going to take my revenge. But that look—that look changed everything. That expression reminded me of an old theory—maybe he really had been able to wipe her memory. And then, he really had stayed away from her—I'd have known otherwise. I've been tracking him long enough, plus, his presence would undo a magical wipe. And she had looked—so many things—surprised, confused, happy. She tried to move towards me as the train doors closed. The memory wipe would have left her empty—classically, if the Wiped met people from their before-time, they were simply overjoyed to feel a memory at all.
     This meant we could start fresh.
     My heart pounded at the thought.
     I lost my breath.
     Dizziness washed over me. I rose and began walking, suddenly unable to sit still. I was sweating, so I left the station, ascending into a freezing city night. I lit a smoke.
     The old poetry floated through my mind. The Shakespeare, the old shit, the stuff I don't touch anymore. For once, no darker verse chased off the love-rhymes. If she couldn't remember—if the past could be wiped clean—the possibilities!
     I laughed. People in the streets stared, and I laughed harder.
     Joy I had long ago shoved aside filled me.

     Buzzing. Elation. Joy. It's been a long time since I felt so much, so deeply, at a kill. I cut his useless second-in-command down, my final obstacle, and move on—there she is! He thought keeping her here would hide her, but I knew.
     And she is ecstatic!
     And she is buzzing!
     And her arms are around me.
     I am her savior. She is filled with questions—his presence, of course, made the memory wipe start to disappear. She remembers our good times, our happiness. My goddess has returned to me. My muse. Lines float through my head so quickly, in such a jumble, and it doesn't even hurt!
Cutting her off from him should stop the flow of memories, but she need not know those details. As long as she remembers the happy times, we can have our fresh start. She never needs to find out about the time after. She can be innocent of her own betrayal.
     The thought blackens my mind for a moment, but then, she smiles.
     I can barely keep my hands off of her once we reach safety. I try to control myself, unsure how much she really remembers, but she attacks with the same abandon that's haunted me for a decade. Before long we are naked in the glass-walled penthouse, making love for the whole world to see. I wish he could see her now, see what I do to her. He wouldn't be so arrogant then.
      Then, the white emptiness fills me, and my head is silent. Blessed silence, after years of noise. I remember once I got angry at that complete blankness, but for now, I don't miss the chatter. Entwined in her, I drift into Morpheus.

     We had a fight.
     I may be able to forgive her, soon. I know she doesn't remember what she did to me. I know she cannot fully understand my fear—that much is logical. I am always logical. She will simply have to grow to accept my measures to protect us. She has to. In time, she will be rightfully grateful.
Have I not given her everything she could possibly need? The most luxurious penthouse DC has to offer? It will be even better when I get her out of this pit, back to my real home in Boston. There, she'll never have care or need, and we can really be together.
     She will never leave me again.

     The noise is back. Cacophony. Rage. Senseless syllables in strange assortments. Pain. Words. Tumbling, tumultuous words. RAGE.
     I collapse to my knees.
     She is gone.
     Despite all of my precautions, all of my work, what does she do for me? She leaves. Again. After all I've been through for her! The hunting. The heartbreak.
     The rage is all-consuming.
     She jumped out the window. Bitch didn't even have the good will to die. She's rediscovering her magic. I can feel its residue in this place. It's sticky, like humidity, and I hate it. She lived.
This is his doing, somehow. I should have killed him. No, I should have never been so indecisive. I should have boarded that subway train and strangled her. I should have forced her to understand the depth of her transgressions.
     I think it's time to talk to Sparrow.

     Sparrow understands. I didn't think she would, but she knows why I never completed that contract. Couldn't kill her the first time around, years ago. Easy to kill the rest of her family, but her? It was the only time I ever hesitated during a contract, and it saved her life.
     Sparrow forgives me, as long as she dies this time around. I tell her, No Problem. It'll get done.
     This time, she'll get no reprieve.
     In Sparrow's smile I see the sickness of my own soul. The same noise. I think it's why we work so well together. Also, she's the only partner I've never killed.
     That probably helps.

     He can do something in her head. That's how they talk. I know it. I don't know how it's possible, but that's how she's staying strong.
     That strength makes my heart yearn, even if he is its cause.
     I can't afford to yearn for her anymore.
     You'd think after long enough duct taped to a chair in an abandoned garage, being tortured by a stranger and an ex-lover, she would give up. But she can't. It's not in her nature.
     That's why I love her.
     That's why I have to end her.
     I light two smokes. One for my mouth. One for her skin.

     I knew they could speak, somehow. It's how he found her.
     I'm bleeding, but I can hardly feel it over the burning raging noise. He killed Sparrow and left with her. They are gone, now.
     I look down. The hole in my stomach is very large. My heartbeat is weakening, and every time I feel it, I see a little more blood leave my body.
     I am dying. I cannot die. It will not end here. I drag my ruined body over to Sparrow's corpse. The last of her life's energy is in her blood. I commit the forbidden, the last barrier between assassin and madman. I suck blood from the cotton it has seeped into. I lick it from her, and my wounds heal.
      I know where she will go.
     I just have to get there first.

     The bloodlust never ends. I've been on her land for eleven days, and already I've had to kill three people to silence it. The lust and the noise battle in my head. Sometimes I give up and lose myself in their war.
     This isn't how vampirism usually goes. I can't truly turn without true blood—vampire blood. That doesn't stop the bloodlust. It ticks away in my head, counting down my final days of sanity.
     She'd better come soon.

     Burning.
     Not inside. Outside.
     It doesn't hurt as bad when it's outside.
     She is here. It is fitting that she is here in the hour of my death. Fitting, even, that it is her hands that do the deed. The perfect end to our perfect tragedy.
    The noise is quieting down.
     Finally, staring at her, at the face I've known and loved so well, everything in my head narrows to one voice. It is beautiful. I grip her hand. I wish she could hear it, so I repeat its words with my failing tongue, desperate for her to understand. It is so pure! For the first time I think I understand everything that brought us here, everything we are, our beautiful, sad fate.
     "Not a bang, but a whimper," I tell her.
     She closes my eyes.

Description
     I see her. God, but I see her. Years have passed, but the clenching in my gut feels as sharp as it ever did. She's on the subway. Going home, I figure. She looks tired.
     Until she sees me.
     A split second, then her subway pulls away, but I see it in her eyes. Not fear, not hate, but the look I remember—that look from the past.
     Until now, I'd been decisive. I was going to take my revenge. But that look—that look changed everything. That expression reminded me of an old theory—maybe he really had been able to wipe her memory. And then, he really had stayed away from her—I'd have known otherwise. I've been tracking him long enough, plus, his presence would undo a magical wipe. And she had looked—so many things—surprised, confused, happy. She tried to move towards me as the train doors closed. The memory wipe would have left her empty—classically, if the Wiped met people from their before-time, they were simply overjoyed to feel a memory at all.
     This meant we could start fresh.
     My heart pounded at the thought.
     I lost my breath.
     Dizziness washed over me. I rose and began walking, suddenly unable to sit still. I was sweating, so I left the station, ascending into a freezing city night. I lit a smoke.
     The old poetry floated through my mind. The Shakespeare, the old shit, the stuff I don't touch anymore. For once, no darker verse chased off the love-rhymes. If she couldn't remember—if the past could be wiped clean—the possibilities!
     I laughed. People in the streets stared, and I laughed harder.
     Joy I had long ago shoved aside filled me.

     Buzzing. Elation. Joy. It's been a long time since I felt so much, so deeply, at a kill. I cut his useless second-in-command down, my final obstacle, and move on—there she is! He thought keeping her here would hide her, but I knew.
     And she is ecstatic!
     And she is buzzing!
     And her arms are around me.
     I am her savior. She is filled with questions—his presence, of course, made the memory wipe start to disappear. She remembers our good times, our happiness. My goddess has returned to me. My muse. Lines float through my head so quickly, in such a jumble, and it doesn't even hurt!
Cutting her off from him should stop the flow of memories, but she need not know those details. As long as she remembers the happy times, we can have our fresh start. She never needs to find out about the time after. She can be innocent of her own betrayal.
     The thought blackens my mind for a moment, but then, she smiles.
     I can barely keep my hands off of her once we reach safety. I try to control myself, unsure how much she really remembers, but she attacks with the same abandon that's haunted me for a decade. Before long we are naked in the glass-walled penthouse, making love for the whole world to see. I wish he could see her now, see what I do to her. He wouldn't be so arrogant then.
      Then, the white emptiness fills me, and my head is silent. Blessed silence, after years of noise. I remember once I got angry at that complete blankness, but for now, I don't miss the chatter. Entwined in her, I drift into Morpheus.

     We had a fight.
     I may be able to forgive her, soon. I know she doesn't remember what she did to me. I know she cannot fully understand my fear—that much is logical. I am always logical. She will simply have to grow to accept my measures to protect us. She has to. In time, she will be rightfully grateful.
Have I not given her everything she could possibly need? The most luxurious penthouse DC has to offer? It will be even better when I get her out of this pit, back to my real home in Boston. There, she'll never have care or need, and we can really be together.
     She will never leave me again.

     The noise is back. Cacophony. Rage. Senseless syllables in strange assortments. Pain. Words. Tumbling, tumultuous words. RAGE.
     I collapse to my knees.
     She is gone.
     Despite all of my precautions, all of my work, what does she do for me? She leaves. Again. After all I've been through for her! The hunting. The heartbreak.
     The rage is all-consuming.
     She jumped out the window. Bitch didn't even have the good will to die. She's rediscovering her magic. I can feel its residue in this place. It's sticky, like humidity, and I hate it. She lived.
This is his doing, somehow. I should have killed him. No, I should have never been so indecisive. I should have boarded that subway train and strangled her. I should have forced her to understand the depth of her transgressions.
     I think it's time to talk to Sparrow.

     Sparrow understands. I didn't think she would, but she knows why I never completed that contract. Couldn't kill her the first time around, years ago. Easy to kill the rest of her family, but her? It was the only time I ever hesitated during a contract, and it saved her life.
     Sparrow forgives me, as long as she dies this time around. I tell her, No Problem. It'll get done.
     This time, she'll get no reprieve.
     In Sparrow's smile I see the sickness of my own soul. The same noise. I think it's why we work so well together. Also, she's the only partner I've never killed.
     That probably helps.

     He can do something in her head. That's how they talk. I know it. I don't know how it's possible, but that's how she's staying strong.
     That strength makes my heart yearn, even if he is its cause.
     I can't afford to yearn for her anymore.
     You'd think after long enough duct taped to a chair in an abandoned garage, being tortured by a stranger and an ex-lover, she would give up. But she can't. It's not in her nature.
     That's why I love her.
     That's why I have to end her.
     I light two smokes. One for my mouth. One for her skin.

     I knew they could speak, somehow. It's how he found her.
     I'm bleeding, but I can hardly feel it over the burning raging noise. He killed Sparrow and left with her. They are gone, now.
     I look down. The hole in my stomach is very large. My heartbeat is weakening, and every time I feel it, I see a little more blood leave my body.
     I am dying. I cannot die. It will not end here. I drag my ruined body over to Sparrow's corpse. The last of her life's energy is in her blood. I commit the forbidden, the last barrier between assassin and madman. I suck blood from the cotton it has seeped into. I lick it from her, and my wounds heal.
      I know where she will go.
     I just have to get there first.

     The bloodlust never ends. I've been on her land for eleven days, and already I've had to kill three people to silence it. The lust and the noise battle in my head. Sometimes I give up and lose myself in their war.
     This isn't how vampirism usually goes. I can't truly turn without true blood—vampire blood. That doesn't stop the bloodlust. It ticks away in my head, counting down my final days of sanity.
     She'd better come soon.

     Burning.
     Not inside. Outside.
     It doesn't hurt as bad when it's outside.
     She is here. It is fitting that she is here in the hour of my death. Fitting, even, that it is her hands that do the deed. The perfect end to our perfect tragedy.
    The noise is quieting down.
     Finally, staring at her, at the face I've known and loved so well, everything in my head narrows to one voice. It is beautiful. I grip her hand. I wish she could hear it, so I repeat its words with my failing tongue, desperate for her to understand. It is so pure! For the first time I think I understand everything that brought us here, everything we are, our beautiful, sad fate.
     "Not a bang, but a whimper," I tell her.
     She closes my eyes.