Now that he knew Frank would be all right, Rand decided to wait until morning to make any decisions. He was much to tired to think clearly, it having been two days since he'd slept. He would get some sleep himself, then they would decide together what to do. He figured he'd been asleep a couple of hours when he heard Frank trying to get up.

"What are you doing?" he asked, watching as Frank sat up slowly, his movements experimental and cautious.

"Bathroom," Frank said. "Where are my clothes?"

"In there," Rand replied, "they may not be dry yet. You hungry?" At Frank's nod, he continued, "I'll get something ready for you."

Frank was nearly to the bathroom when he looked back at Rand. "When did you go out?"

"I didn't. I asked your doctor friend to pick something up for us on his way here. He brought some sandwiches."

Frank emerged from the bathroom a short while later dressed in his damp blue jeans and the baggy sweatshirt. He settled on the bed again, using the headboard as a back brace.

"I hope you like ham and cheese, kid, 'cause that's all we've got."

"Right now, I could eat the sack it came in," Frank said around a grin, realizing for the first time that he hadn't eaten since the previous morning.

Rand tossed him one of the paper wrapped sandwiches and went to sit in the room's only armchair.

"I take it Joe wasn't with you back there?"

"No, Joe wasn't home and the guy said to go right away. I really had planned to call him so he could follow, but I ended up not having a phone." Silence separated them for several minutes while Frank ate his sandwich.

A quiet, "Rand?" eventually broke the silence.

One look made it very clear to Rand that the kid wanted to ask something and was shying away from the question.

"What?"

"Do you remember all the people you've seen die?"

The careful choice of words didn't escape Rand's notice. "What you really mean is do I remember the ones I killed."

He wanted to be angry, but the misery in the boy's face was almost painful to watch. In the six months he'd known the kid, he'd never seen a look like that on his normally confident face. He waited until Frank raised his eyes to look at him again before he answered.

"It doesn't get any easier, Frank. You do what you have to, to protect yourself and the people you're responsible for." He paused, seeking words that might begin to explain the complexity of the responses he felt. "You can't look too close at the faces or they'll never leave you." Even as he spoke, he wondered why he was opening up so much to this kid, why he was bothering to answer a question that from anyone else would only have made him mad. "Every time you take a life, regardless of the reason, you violate the principle you tell yourself you're protecting." The words seem to flow with a will of their own, and Frank hung on every word. Rand knew he was answering for much more than the obvious question. "It just never works out to a fair trade if you look too closely."

"Dad says it's never black and white."

"Never. No matter how bad you think the other guy is, there's someone else who sees the good. It's all a question of viewpoint." Rand watch Frank evaluate the words as he weighed them against his reasons for asking. "It was an accident," Rand offered with surprising gentleness and intuition. "You didn't kill him. He fell on the knife."

Before Frank could answer, the door burst inward with a splintering crash. The small room was suddenly invaded by three people--and Rand's gun was on the bed neatly out of reach. Not that he was actually stupid enough to consider a grab for it. The steadily aimed weapons held by the two men in front of him were sufficient argument against foolish heroics.

Cautiously Rand rose, his hands spread out. However, when Frank started to ease himself off the bed, the guard closest to him decided the action was threatening, and raised his gun, intending to use it as a club. Rand reacted instinctively, closing with him before he could think, and he caught the descending arm before the blow could land.

"No!"

The order was given with sharp authority, the loud bang of the closing door emphasizing the command. Rand released the gunman's wrist and glanced at Frank. Foolish heroics, Rand reminded himself with ironic anger. He turned to stare at the third figure.

"Get the boy out of here," Villman ordered, "and kill him," he added nodding towards Rand.

"Wait. I was only doing my job. Hanks said you wanted the kid on ice for a while," Rand said, putting a little quiver into his voice for effect. His words got Villman's attention.

"What do you mean 'Hanks said'? How were you only doing your job?"

"Well, you see. Hanks and me, we've got to be friends since I started working at the prison. Actually, he's the one that hired me. Anyway, he asked me if I could use some extra money. Who can't these days, I told him sure. Then he asked if I was very picky about how I got it. I've been 'round the block a few times myself. I told him didn't have no trouble with a little shady work."

"What exactly did he tell you about the job?"

"He just said he needed some help to keep this kid quiet for a few day. Keep him out of sight. He and Jones were gonna grab the kid, he wanted me to keep a lookout in the lobby while they did. He never said nothin' about hurting him, though."

"He wasn't suppose to hurt him. What went wrong?"

"Well, I saw the kid come in, then a few minutes later, another kid comes in. I decided to follow him. By the time I got upstairs, I found Jones and this other kid fighting in the hall. Before I could get to them, Jones had took off, the other kid following him." Rand hoped Villman didn't know where Joe had really been and would believe he was the one who attacked Jones.

Rand continued with his story. "I went into the room to help Hanks. He had a knife out to scare the kid, but then the kid started to fight and he had to use it. After the kid was down, though, he kicked out and Hanks tripped and landed on his knife. He looked dead. I grabbed the kid and ran. I didn't wanta be caught there with a dead guy."

"What about the one who attacked Jones," Villman asked.

"I grabbed the kid and got out of there fast. We hid in a utility closet till the coast was clear, the kid was kind of out of it so he didn't give me no trouble. This blond kid comes back and searched through the room, but left when he didn't find anyone but Hanks."

Why didn't you come back to the prison?"

"I was scared, and tired. I thought someone might have fingered my car, so I decided to hide out at a motel and listen to the news. Then I was going to try to contact you this morning."

"Who bandaged him up. That was a pretty professional job."

"I did. I had some medic training while I was in the service. I keep a first aid kit in my car with bandages and stuff."

Villman considered the man before him. His story was plausible. He seemed the kind Hanks would get to know and use, and Hanks wasn't here to verify or contradict his story. He'd buy the story, for now, but would keep an eye on him.

"Okay, come on. You won't get in trouble about Hanks. I'll see to it your name's not mentioned. In fact, I might have some extra work for you myself."