The Tomorrow That Never Was

It was only the phone ringing.

Then, again. The banshee's scream rang out and penetrated his brain.

It was only the phone ringing.

Cain was lying on his naked stomach. His right hand was trying in vain to cover his pounding head, the other dangling off the side of the bed. The rest of his naked body lay underneath tangled sheets.

Again, the screams of those harbingers of bad news tore through his semi-consciousness. He did not want to hear it, and at the moment, he couldn't bear it.

It was only the phone ringing.

As slowly as Cain could, so as not to disturb his uneasy internal equilibrium, he turned his head toward the phone.

Again, the sound rang out, ten times louder than it should have, reverberating through his head like a hammer crashing over his skull.

It was only the phone ringing.

Cain lifted his left arm and used it to scrunch forward a few inches, just enough to reach the phone, and then picked it up and threw it as far away from the wall as he could. The phone soared through the air, its cord to the jack in the wall trailing behind. Moments later, Cain heard a satisfying "pop" as the cord yanked out of the wall. The phone crashed quietly against the carpet.

There was no more noise.

But now Cain was awake. He twisted off of his stomach and pulled himself up to a sitting position against the headboard of the bed. Cautiously, he exhaled. His head was still spinning. Cain put one hand to his forehead and another down against the bed to steady himself.

Cain closed his eyes.

Even then, the room still spun, and his life was the same.

Cain opened his eyes. Ever so slightly, he shook his head. His leg brushing up against something, he looked to his left and saw what looked to be a pretty blonde, half covered by the sheets. He did not recognize her.

It was only another girl, another night, and his life was the same.

Cain slapped her sleeping face.

"Get up," he muttered.

The woman started ever so slightly. Her eyes blinked and she looked up at Cain with a confused look first, then a smile. She pulled herself into a sitting position and moved to kiss him.

He put his palm firmly on her lips and pushed her back. "Morning breath's a little rough today," he said, before something caught in his throat and he began to cough. He put a hand to his stomach as if holding himself together.

The blonde looked at him with disgust and rolled away from him. "You should talk. You smell like a fucking distillery."

Cain scratched his chin and watched her put on her clothes. She had slipped on her bra, a t-shirt, and her panties when Cain stood up. Uneasily, he walked around the far side of the bed. He stopped at the dresser and picked up a half empty beer. Without a second thought, he downed the rest of the warm, flat beer.

The blonde stopped dressing, her jeans in her hand, and stared at him. "Thanks," she said.

"Take a hike," he said holding his head again.

"What's your problem?" she asked.

Cain blinked at her as he set down the beer bottle. "Are you still here?" he asked.

"You're such an asshole."

Cain stopped himself as he was about to let go of the bottle. "Asshole?" he said softly. In his eyes, the blonde saw a fury that she'd never seen in a man before. Without warning, Cain threw the beer bottle against the wall, sending shards of glass flying. "An asshole?" He advanced on her before she knew it. Nervously, she dropped her jeans as he stepped toward her.

He took her by her arms and pushed her against the wall, pinning her there with the weight of his body. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"he asked, inches away from her.

"Get away from me!" she screamed, struggling against his grip.

"You didn't come to me because you liked my personality. You wanted to fuck a celebrity."

"Let me go!"

Cain let her go, and leaned back on his heels. He was swaying a bit. He took a step back to catch his balance. Her eyes wild, she waited for him to back away, still feeling trapped. Instead, he stepped back forward and slapped her. "I did what you wanted me to, didn't I?" he asked, screaming into her face.

She tried to push him away, but he pushed aside her hands and took hold of her shoulders.

“I gave you what you wanted, didn’t I?” he said. While his left hand held her shoulder tight, he sliped his right hand under the soft silk of her panties. "I fucked you good, didn't I?"

The blonde let out a soft gasp as his fingers entered her, not sure whether she wanted to fight him or not.

"I showed you the night of your life, and you loved every minute of it, so don't bitch to me that I'm an asshole."

She threw her arms around his neck and moaned softly—almost involuntarily. "Yes," she moaned. She paused for a moment, then found his eyes. "You were great."

"That's what I thought," Cain said, smiling for the first time that morning. Only with the anger gone, the adrenaline was fading. That brought back the pounding in his head.

The banshees wailed again. This time in a tenor voice.

It was only the door pounding.

Cain grimaced as his head exploded again.

"Come on, Cain," a muffled voice cried out from behind the door. "We have to be at the radio station in two hours. You have to start getting ready."

"Give me a minute," Cain shouted.

"Don't leave," the blonde moaned.

"I won't," he snarled.

Pulling his hand out of her panties, he took hold of them and ripped them off. She moaned again. He picked up both of her legs and spread them around him. Pinning her against the wall with the weight of his body, he entered her and gave her what she wanted—again. Again.

After a fast and furious fuck, sweat rolling down his brow and chest, Cain set the blonde on the floor and collapsed on the bed. "Get out," he murmured.

This time she didn't complain. She got dressed quickly. She even kissed Cain on the cheek and said good-bye as she left. He didn't care or seem to notice.

Cain was staring at the ceiling fan twirl around and around. It was mesmerizing; it kind of reminded him of that scene in Apocalypse Now. It was about all he could do, as exhausted and intoxicated as he was. Around and around. Again. Again.

"Christ," a voice swore softly. Out of the corner of his vision, Cain saw Jeremy walk up next to the bed.

"I can smell the beer like I was in a goddamn distillery. I saw the fuckin’ groupie leave. I suppose you just took the time to fuck her again. And here you are, naked, and half-conscious. Let me guess, still drunk?"

"And my dick’s still wet,” Cain said, still watching the fan. “Nothing you haven't seen before, right, Jeremy?"

"Goddammit, Cain," Jeremy swore looking straight at the musicisian. "Did you even use a condom?"

"Nah. It feels better without one.” Cain’s eyes darted to his manager. “That's what life is about right? Living for the moment?"

"Not if you're dead the next."

"Nothing you haven't seen before, right, Jeremy?"

"Yeah, that's right." Jeremy swore again, shaking his head. "Again and again. You fucking idiot." Jeremy rummaged through Cain's clothes, trying to find something for him to wear. "You could have at least covered yourself."

"That would have inconvenienced me."

"Wouldn't want to trouble you, would I?"

"Nope," cain said, followed by a loud belch.

"Christ. You are supposed to go on the air and talk with a DJ. You're supposed to be fucking sober for this!"

"I'll live my life how I see fit." Cain turned his head, pausing to spit on the floor. "I just want to keep myself happy, all right?"

"Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Is that it, Cain?"

"You bet."

"You're pathetic."

"Thanks," Cain said, picking himself up on his elbows. "That's why I employ you. To insult me."

"I'm trying to keep you on track. " Jeremy threw a couple of shirts on the bed. "You should know that the others are worried."

"Right. We've known each other for years. They know me. They know what I'm doing." Cain rolled his head back and stared lazily up at the ceiling fan again.

"Yes. They do."

"They know me, Jeremy!"

"They knew you."

Cain rolled his head back up and stared at Jeremy. "Are you saying I've changed?"

"Haven’t you?"

Cain sat up and dropped his head into his hands. No words were said by either man. Neither needed to. When Jeremy asked him those kinds of questions, Cain usually buried himself in his accomplishments—if only to escape the reality.

Cain ran his fingers through his hair. Two consecutive platinum albums. Not bad for your first two. Especially since he had written most of the lyrics and music. He was especially proud of that. Anyone could play the drums as well as he. But Cain didn't think anyone in the industry could write songs as well as him. From the numbers, the American public agreed with him.

His band had toured, had made public appearances, and had done award shows. They were the hottest thing. Millions of people had bought their CDs and millions more hummed their tunes.

Cain finally looked back up at Jeremy through his hair. "Hell, no," he lied. "I haven't changed a bit."

* * *

Cain strutted out of the radio station with Jeremy right behind him. Cain appeared as he always did, his long brown hair bouncing behind him, his dark brown eyes unfocused, a lopsided grin on his face. His button up shirt fluttered in the wind, dancing over his ripped jeans. Jeremy, was all but busting out of his grey suit, almost skipping he was so happy.

"That was fantastic!" Jeremy exclaimed. "You were perfect."

Cain stopped right in front of the limousine that was waiting for them. He straightened his olive green long sleeve shirt and then ran a hand through his long hair, licking his lips. "What did you expect?"

Jeremy opened the back door of the limo and Cain got in. Jeremy followed him, closing the door behind him. Jeremy nodded at the chauffeur and the car gently pulled away from the curb.

"You answered that DJ like a politician. You gave him everything he and the listeners wanted to hear. You told them a little bit about new stuff you guys have been working on—but not too much. You," he went on, barely taking a breath, he was so excited, "were fantastic." His voice tapered off as he saw Cain pour himself a drink. Jeremy just sat there at that point, his mouth open.

"Cain," he said finally. "What are you doing?"

"I'm pouring myself some bourbon," Cain replied, holding the glass up to Jeremy in a mock-toast. He took a sip. "Would you like one?"

"You just barely made it out of an interview because you were still drunk from last night and now you're drinking again?"

"You just told me I was brilliant. Why should I stop drinking?"

"Jesus, Cain! You're gonna fucking kill yourself!"

"Would you prefer I smoked up?"

"Not in the fucking limo!"

"Maybe I should pop a tab."

"What is it with you and drugs, Cain?" Jeremy lay his hand softly on his friend's shoulder. "Why can't you just enjoy life as it is?"

Cain's brown eyes fell over his glass. "Why can't you understand that I can't enjoy life as it is?"

"What are you—"

"Shut up," Cain snapped. "I don't wanna talk about it anymore."

Morosely, Cain stared out the tinted windows of the limousine. He didn't say anything else the rest of the ride home. He didn't need to. Instead he took another sip of the bourbon. Again.

* * *

"Cain. Cain. Cain."

Something was shaking him. Someone was waking him.

"Cain. Cain!"

It was only Jesse.

"Wake up," Jesse said, still shaking Cain.

Returning to consciousness, Cain slapped Jesse's hands away from him.

"Leave me alone."

"Leave you alone. Cain, we have a show in less than an hour! Do you hear music in the distance? That's Ceres, our opening band."

"What's your point?"

Jesse stooped forward, staring into Cain's eyes. Cain refused, or was unable to stare back. His dilated eyes rolled back and forth, not staying still.

"What are you on?" Jesse asked.

"What?"

"What are you on, man?"

"I popped a couple tabs an hour ago."

"You're gonna play while you're tripping?"

"I've done it before!"

"You have?"

"Both Matt and Brian know. Where have you been?"

"Straightening out my life. I made some mistakes when we got big, but I straightened them out. I thought you were doing the same."

"I was. I am." Cain waived his hand dismissively. "It's all the same."

Jesse turned away from his friend.

"Come on, Jess!" Cain said loudly. "You know I need this!"

"I didn't."

"You did them for a different reason."

"Then why do you do them?"

"You know why, Jess."

Nothing was said for long moments. Jeremy approached them both. "A guy named Tim said he'd leave everything in your dressing room. You can pay him after the show," he told Cain. "He said that he knows you're good. What the hell is that about? "

"Tim?" Jesse said to Cain. "Tim McFarland?"

"Yeah, why?"

Jesse couldn't look at Cain. "Not heroin, Cain. Please tell me you didn't just get heroin from Tim."

"And if I did?"

"Goddammit, Cain!"

"What do you care?" Cain said, standing up. "I still write the best fucking lyrics for you to sing, don't I? I write better shit than anyone else out there, don't I?"

"That’s not the fucking point!"

"I still come up with inventive ways to play the drums don't I? I perform the best I can, 200 out of 360 nights a year don't I?"

"What’s your fucking point?"

"Isn't that way more than anyone should expect from a human being? The pressure of performing at your ultimate level 200 out of 360 nights? Then being on the road every day in-between, doing talk shows, radio shows, interviews, special appearances, and then still be expected to write new material? Isn't that far more than anyone should ever expect out of a human being?”

"Yeah, Cain it is. But we all go through that, not just you."

"I'm expected to come up with songs that will be bestsellers every time I write music. Do you know how much pressure that is? Do you?"

"Yes, Cain. I write some too. Remember?"

Cain ran his his hands through his hair, shaking it wildly. "Aarrgh," he grunted. "Fuck, man it's all bullshit."

"What is your problem, Cain?" Jesse said. "You're not the only person in the whole world to feel pressure, man. You need to get a grip."

Cain whirled, his hair spinning behind him. He smiled a wry smile. Where's the fun? Where's the excitement we used to have when we played out at the clubs in Boston? Where the fuck is the fun, Jess?"

"Wherever you left it," Jesse said softly. “You make your own prison, Cain.”

Jeremy looked between the two, horrified, and not at all understanding what was going on besides the fact that Cain had just purchased heroin, which he knew was bad.

"Heroin kills people," Jesse said softly.

"A lot of things kill people," Cain said, walking out of the room. "And nothing changes the things you run from."

* * *

The lights exploded and Cain could barely understand what was happening to him. His brain wasn't working like it was supposed to. The lights blurred and danced the way people did; maybe they were conversing with him, he wasn't sure. At some points, he just watched; at others he responded, speaking his mind to them. It was all different. He looked down at his arms. They seemed the wrong color. He sat down in his stool at the drum set. Where was he? Plants were growing around his legs. He felt he could see his heart. Why could he see it? He didn't want to see it. It was all the same. Cain spit off to the side and shook his head. Closing his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, Jesse, Brian, and Matt walked to where they were supposed to on stage. The crowd was going crazy. The loud roar nearly deafened him.

His bandmates gave him odd looks as he just stood there in the middle of the stage, not going to his drumset. Wait, hadn't he already been seated? What the fuck? There must have been some reason he had gotten back up. There must have been some purpose he was forgetting. Slowly, Cain wobbled up to the microphone in front of Jesse. Jesse had an angry look on his face, but Cain only took hold of the microphone, grasping it like a lifeline. He held it and the microphone stand, close to him, cradling them; perhaps the crowd thought he was humping them. They went crazy.

"Shhh!" he hissed into the microphone.

The crowd slowly quieted.

Cain waited impatiently.

The band waited nervously.

"I've got a little surprise planned for you, Washington!" he roared to the crowd gathered at the US Air Arena. The crowd ignited in cheers. There were enough people there that he could actually feel the crowd noise. That's what made him smile amidst his confusion. The feel of the soundwaves hitting him. For a moment, he closed his eyes and just felt it, letting the reverberations roll over him, feeling the warmth of the lights above under which he still squinted, afraid of their chaotic movments. If only he could feel that forever.

"I'm gonna do something no band has ever done before." Cain turned and pointed to Jeremy off stage. Jeremy then used his headset to contact others behind the scenes. "And I guarantee, no other band—including us—will ever do again." Cheers erupted from the crowd. Cain paused again, closing his eyes, bouncing against the microphone stand, and just absorbing the soundwaves. He exhaled deeply.

Spotlights flared and highlighted several small objects hanging from the rafters. With the lights on them, everyone could see eight stuffed dogs above them. Cain paused, staring at the lights. Trippy as he was, the spotlights continued to fascinate him. Thus, he continued to stare as he continued to speak. "Let me tell you something, Washington. Money can be a wonderful thing. And I'm hoping it'll make some of you happy just like it did us!"

The stuffed dogs opened with firework-like explosions and green U.S. bills rained down on the crowd. "One-hundred dollar bills, courtesy of the Magnetic Dog Boys!"

Jesse put his hand over the mike and turned to Cain. "Are you crazy?"

"It's only money," Cain replied with a shrug.

The crowd erupted in noise and anarchy.

"'Walk on Me,'" Cain called out as he skipped to his drumset, knowing full well that the opening song was supposed to be a song called "My World," their latest radio hit. He didn't care. He'd do what he wanted. See what his friends thought of him then.

He sat down at the drumset and began playing. The song started with a drum fill, and so he forced his bandmates to follow his lead. The music exploded, and the sound was at least as loud, if not louder, than the roar of the crowd had been moments ago. Cain couldn't believe he wasn't deaf yet. That thought almost confused him enough for him to stop playing. Almost.

"Don't you know?" Jesse began singing. "Don't you see?

"Your feet—trample me." The words were carried out and sang slowly. They were widely spaced in comparison to the upbeat tempo of the underlying song.

"I'm the dirt—you step on.

"Ground down," Jesse roared deeply. "By your soles!

"Why is it, that you walk on me?" Jesse sang, beginning the chorus. "When you should hold me tight, you push me away.

"Still you know, yeah still you see—yet still you walk, still you trample me.

"Oblivion, it leaves me—and I see you, for what you are."

"Why is that you walk on me?" Jesse belted, finishing up the chorus. "I should be your world, instead I'm your dirt."

The song continued on with the same metaphor, with the same message of pain. It was a popular song from their first album. Cain had written it about a girlfriend that hadn't treated him well, or at least about a bad day. As it turned out, she had left him, so the song meant that much more to him. He had never known what had gone wrong. One day they were together, the next they were not. That was what had started his downward spriral.

She had wanted to see other people. He had not, but he had went out and had seen other people all right. He had slept with more women then he could remember. He had done it all to hurt her, to say that he could and would see other people; to say that he could do it without her. Yet for some reason, he had never told her most of it.

She had never told him of anyone either. And maybe there was not anyone. But for better or worse, he looked at himself to model her behavior. He could not believe that she had wanted to see others and would not have found anyone. Finally, he just couldn't take it anymore and had just broken it off. It had been a terrible break. The way it had happened was a very cruel and unfortunate way of ending something that had once been beautiful.

Then he had received all that he had now, he thought, as he played the drumset. He'd gotten fame and fortune and everything that he had ever dreamed of. A life doing whatever what he wanted. A life of rocking out and partying. The perfect life.

A bitter irony struck Cain. As he crashed the symbol and caught it in his hand to end the song, he realized that she had walked over him then, but now he was walking over himself.

* * *

The effects of the LSD still inhibiting his movement, Cain stumbled off of the stage. "Keep an eye out for Tim," he mumbled to Jeremy on his way out. The rest of the band was behind him, but he couldn't deal with them.

"Good show," Jeremy called out as Cain walked by.

"Aren't they all?" Cain said, mostly to himself.

As he walked backstage, he saw security guards holding back a horde of young women. He smiled and walked towards them. They all started screaming. At least he was wanted.

He leaned on one of the guards and looked through the crowd. Women stretched out their hands, straining to reach them, some successful, some not. Cain liked it. He rested on one of the guards, closing his eyes, feeling the women grabbing him all over. The guards tried desperately to hold the women back, and were more than a little annoyed at Cain. He wasn't making their jobs any easier.

Cain opened his eyes, looking out at the women. "I'll take her," he said, pointing to a redhead with large breasts.

The woman fought her way through the crowd and the guards let her pass through.

"What's your name?" Cain asked the girl.

"Kate," the girl answered.

Cain took another look at her. Black shoes and jeans as tight as her skin. He bent over, taking a quick look at her butt. It was a nice, tight one. There was a small hole over one of the cheeks, showing a little bit of her ass. Either thong underwear or none, Cain thought. Either way, he liked what he saw. She was wearing a short t-shirt that didn't quite fall to her jeans, revealing smooth, pink, skin . The woman's breasts were large enough that her half shirt didn't even fall against her skin, it fell tightly off of her breasts and then hung, several inches away from her abdomen. Long, straight locks of red hair fell over her shoulders and Cain ran his hand through it. She would definitely be an amazing fuck, he though. Especially, if she knew what she was doing. He didn't think he would even wait to get her home. He definitely wouldn't be patient enough to put a condom on. Besides, like he had told Jeremy earlier, it wouldn't feel as good. What could it do to him any way? Kill him? Fuck, no one famous lived past twenty-nine.

Cain escorted the woman to his dressing room and made small talk to accommodate her starstruck babble. He opened the door for her like a gentleman, and then shoved her through the open doorway.

Inside his room was the thing he had least expected to see.

"Sean," Cain reathed, blinking hard. It was his ex-girlfriend. From before the fame. Again. The only woman he had ever loved. Another man, in a suit, was with her.

"Hi, Cain."

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I work in D.C.. I thought I'd catch your show."

"Fine, but why are you here?"

"I thought," she trailed off, nodding her head to the redhead.

"Do you want her to leave, so we can talk privately?" Cain said.

"Yes."

"Who's he?" Cain gestured to the man in the suit.

"He's my bodyguard. I work for the CIA and I've gotten into a little mess. I'll tell you later."

Cain looked around, laughing at the redhead. She laughed nervously. “The CIA,” he mused.

“Yup,” Sean said.

"He stays, she stays," Cain said, putting his arm around the redhead.

"Fine," Sean said.

Cain pulled the redhead close and kissed her, opening his mouth toward her, letting their tongues entangle. After a moment he pulled away and exhaled deeply, smiling into the redhead's eyes.

"Nice," Sean said.

"So what?” Cain asked, searching for the words. “Did you think we'd catch up on lost time?"

"Well, yeah."

"I'm over you, Sean."

"I didn't say you weren't."

"Well I have been since you decided to see other people. I've fucked so many girls, I've lost track. And that's even before I went big. There've been a lot more since then. And . . . uh . . . um . . ." Cain waived a hand at the redhead.

"Kate," the redhead said, clinging onto Cain.

"Kate is the next one," Cain said, his eyes boring into Sean.

Tears welled up in Sean's eyes, but she refused to let them go. "I was never even in another serious relationship, let alone fucking anyone who happened to be in proximty, Cain."

"You're the one who wanted to see other people," Cain said.

Sean only bit her quivering lip.

"Fuck, why did you want to see other people, then?"

"I don't know. It was just that I'd never been with anyone but you, and I wanted to see what else was out there."

"Then why didn't you find anyone?

"I didn't find anyone that fit what I was looking for."

"Then why didn't you get back together with me?"

"Because I was still looking."

"Then why didn't you tell me that? It could have been just us again!"

"You dumped me!" Sean said.

"Because I didn't think you loved me anymore!" Cain yelled.

Cain turned away from Sean and buried his head on Kate's shoulder. She rubbed his back gently.

After almost a full minute of silence, Cain looked up. "I loved you so much," he said with sobered eyes, full of tears. "It tore me to pieces when you wanted to see other people. I was so upset, I just wanted to fucking hurt you. That's why I fucked so many people. But then I didn’t even tell you about most of them. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I did any of it. It all starts to be the same. And none of it makes life any better. "

Sean turned away to avoid Cain's gaze, in her continued fight to keep from crying herself. "I couldn't be with anyone, Cain. I can't explain why, I just couldn't. But I wasn’t ready to—"

"I can't explain why," Cain told himself. A lie if he ever heard one. It was irrelevant. "I just couldn't stop," he said to no one in particular. "It became almost routine. Maybe even an addiction."

So much time. So much of his life—wasted. Wasted in the pursuit of something that was best reserved for someone like Sean, if not Sean in fact. He couldn't believe it. What a fuckig waste. And for what?

"I won't hold you up any longer," Sean said, avoiding Cain's glare. "You've gotten your wish."

Cain gave her an odd look.

"You've finally hurt me," she said, finally looking at him. The look on her face had made it unnecessary for her to have even told him. "Besides, you must be living your dream now. I don't want to burden you."

"Dream?" Cain asked with a bit of madness in his eyes. He took a step towards her, letting go of the redhead.

"Dream? Haven't you listened to anything I've said? I have money. I have global fame. I have my choice of women. None of them has made me happy! I waste my life on drugs and alcohol. Shit, I am a waste of life. Someone else deserves my life. And you think that's a dream come true?"

"So turn your life around!" Sean said, taking hold of him. "Fix the things that went wrong."

Cain squinted at her, whether focusing or thinking, Sean wasn’t sure.

Suddenly the door opened, and a man in a black leather jacket over a gray-green t-shirt and blue jeans stepped in. Underneath a neat crewcut, his eyes surveyed the room.

"Kerrigan?" Cain exclaimed. "What are you doing here? Shit, man, I haven't seen you since Boston University, Man!"

Kerrigan stepped forward and grasped Cain's hand, pulling him in for a hug. "Just a bit of business."

The CIA protection agent looked uneasily between the two men, but Sean assured him that it was all right. Nevertheless, he stepped in front of his charge.

"What's with him?" Kerrigan asked, pointing to the CIA man.

"He's her bodyguard," Cain spat.

"Oh."

Faster than anyone's eyes could follow, Kerrigan whipped a pistol out of his jacket and gunned down the bodyguard, snapping off two shots that landed right between his eyes.

The redhead screamed and Kerrigan spun, shooting her down, too.

Kerrigan spun back around and left the pistol leveled at Sean. "She knows something she's not supposed to," Kerrigan said.

"Wait," Cain said. "Give us a minute."

Kerrigan raised his eyebrows. Inexplicably, the assassin hesitated.

"It's not that easy," Cain said, turning back to Sean. "I can't just fix my life. I’m not a fucking car. You can't just fix a person's life."

"But why not? You—"

Cain shook his head. "This was supposed to be fun. I was supposed to live a life doing something I wanted. This was all supposed to be a dream come true. But it's not that. It's work."

"That's what people do, Cain. People work," Sean said.

Kerrigan cleared his throat.

Both Cain and Sean turned and looked at Kerrigan.

"I don't want to try anymore," Cain said softly.

"No Cain," Sean moaned.

"Kerrigan," Cain said, his back to the assassin.

"Yeah?"

"I'd like to make a final request. I can only assume that I’m a liability now.”

“Hope you understand,” Kerrigan said.

Cain nodded, glaring at Sean. “Kill me first. It'll make my life worth something finally."

"Have I hurt you so much?" Sean asked.

"You couldn’t possibly know.” Cain swallowed. “But I think you will."

"But why would you have to die? He wants me!"

"I can't have any witnesses," Kerrigan said sadly. "Even if they are friends."

Cain opened his closet and pulled out a briefcase. He opened it. It was full of packets of heroin. "If you want, this should help you make it look like a drug hit," he said.

"You're helping me kill you?" Kerrigan asked.

"Yes."

"No, Cain!" Sean breathed.

"Why?" Kerrigan asked.

"Why are you asking stupid questions? Just fucking kill me!"

Kerrigan stared at him blankly.

"Do it."

"No! Don't! Cain!" Sean moaned.

"This is the first time that I've ever regretted killing somebody," Kerrigan said.

"Why? I'm probably the first one that wanted to die."

Kerrigan shrugged.

"Just fucking kill me," Cain spit, his teeth clenched.

"I'm sorry," Kerrigan said as he raised his arm.

"Don't be. I've been dead for quite a while."

"No!" Sean screamed as Kerrigan shot Cain twice in the forehead. She tried to run and stop him, but she was pathetically slow compared to the trained killer. Kerrigan turned and fired on her before she had even gotten close. Kerrigan slipped the gun back under his jacket and took one last look at his old friend. He bowed slightly in silent tribute. Then he turned around and walked out the door.