She was sobbing violently.
Screaming with horror.
Screaming.
Screaming.
Crying.
And when she gained control,
she called him.
Only him.
Only he could help.
Only he understood.
And he did understand.
All too well.
Though he, too, was crushed.
There was nothing left to reconstruct.
To save.
It could not be undone.
All that was left,
was rage.
Fury.
The bile-tasting hatred that kills.
And killing was in order.
Justice belongs to the victim.
Vengeance is purchased with undeserved pain.
And justice would be served.
Through him.
The ferocious rabid-mad guardian angel.
And though the gentler part of her resisted,
she nodded. agreed.
and waited.

I said Goodbye.
I left.
Oh my God.
I can't believe this is happening.
That Motherfucker.
That MOTHER FUCKER.
Okay.
Okay.
Chill.
Grip.
Get to my garage.
And I arrive there.
There's the chest.
Okay, open, okay, smokeless gun powder cut out of several shotgun shells. Okay, and a capped baby-food jar small enough to fit through a 2-gallon gasoline can’s hole.
Get the small electrical rocket-engine igniter from the kiddie rocket kit. Electrical cord and battery for the igniter.
And a switch using spring-loaded clothes pin, set off by tugging on a clear fishline away from the switch.
Then to the garage, for a 2 gallon can of gasoline, half full.
Into it I pour a bottle of dishwashing detergent.
I blend the mixture thoroughly.
Enjoy your homemade napalm, motherfucker.
I fill the glass baby-food jar half-full with smokeless powder.
I attach the electrical cord to the rocket motor igniter.
I place the igniter in the glass jar and then fill the jar full of smokeless powder.
I pass the wire out of the jar cap through a hole in the middle.
I screw the cap on the glass jar tightly and seal the hole (with wire through it) with liquid silicone. Airtight.
Just fucking relax man, chill, okay, suck the beer,
okay. Jesus Christ I'm gonna put you in a world of hurt, you fucking Fuck.
Into the gas can, hanging above the liquid, I place the jar.
Through a hole in the gasoline can's cap I pass the wires.
I tie a knot with the wire to keep it from slipping.
I screw the gasoline cap on tightly.
I attach the wires to the switch.
No battery yet, just chill out, let's be careful here.
I pick up everything and leave with it.
I know he always leaves his car outside.
It's very late at night.
I park down the street from his car.
I have tight gloves and dark but inconspicuous clothing on.
I take everything and approach his car.
That fucking piece of fucking shit.
It's time to teach a fucking lesson.
I whip out the jimmy and pop open the passenger door.
Get in get in.
Close the door quick an quiet.
Kick ass kick ass.
Now behind the driver’s seat with the gas can.
Okay the switch and battery on the floor under the seat.
Okay now attach to the accelerator the clear fishline leading from the switch.
As soon as he steps on it or kicks the line getting in, it blows.
Okay Okay Okay, Jesus fucking Christ.
Now put the back foot mat over the whole rig to hide it.
Okay, all looks good? Covert? The switch is not tripped?
Be absolutely sure asshole. Don't kill yourself goddammit.
Attach the battery to the switch now.
Good. Good.
Now slowly, slowly, get the fuck out of here.
Okay, you motherfucker.
Bombs away.

She tried to read a book; watch TV.
Finally she went to bed, crying.
Exhausted. Sleeping. Dreaming,
of horrors. Horrors.
And she cried out, screaming.
But he was there, touching her arm, awakening her.
Saving her. Again.
"It's over," he said. "I watched him die."
She blinked, twice, staring into his eyes.
She breathed deep.
They held each other,
and wept together.