"…and then she told me she had a gun,
and said that she used it once before…"
- Seether
He stepped into a cramped police station from a cold wet evening, disheveled, chilled, and perhaps a little out of breath. The air was humid, tainted by the scent of coffee and damp cushioned chairs. A rustle of papers, the lazy flows of muttering and rhythmic rings of telephones whirred, here and there. Yet, the station seemed empty, save for a few who weaved hurriedly between doors and desks.
"Something wrong man?"
The young man rubbed his glasses, dotted with raindrops, set them on his nose, and glanced at a short, heavy officer. Instan
