Thomas' body lay flat and unfeeling as his wife's face.  He had been washed and dressed in his best suit, the bullet hole in the dress shirt not visible under the folds of his coat.  The kening had already been seen to. Katherine, unable to cry, left it to the few women who knew Thomas better than she.  Once that had been dealt with a few of the men in the neighborhood came and ordered a coffin and then the body, a word she could barely speak, had been placed inside, a rosary tucked in his hands, candles lit and mirrors turned towards the wall.

She didn't have to stop the clock, it's face was shattered, the bezel bent from a ricochet. She couldn't even look at it, it had been a present to her on the occasion of her wedding.  Food and strong drink was laid out in the kitchen for the mourners, each one who came saying a brief prayer over her husband and then continuing on. Katherine had been unprepared to greet those who came, so a family friend stood close, taking the condolences for her.  She felt nothing as they spoke, felt nothing as they touched her gently on the shoulder, felt nothing as the sun set deep into night and the cold seeped into the house and swirled around her.

There was nothing left to feel Thomas had made her certain promises when they wed. He had sworn he was going to change, that the money she had given him would be used to build and honest life, and for a while it was.  They had been married for ten years and each year that ticked by she prayed to the Holy Infant and begged him for mercy and understanding. She beseeched the saints for patience and the ability to forgive.  She ask the Virgin Mary to give her grace. 

Now she no longer believed that any of those things would ever come to her.  What little faith she had left hanging on the vines of her soul shriveled and died when she opened the door to her apartment on the last day of the year and saw her husband laying in a pool of his own congealed blood.  Just like a pig at the abattoir where he worked.  The warm pink roses on her cheeks lost their petals as the blood drained from her face, the last word she remembered speaking were the broken glass splinters of "No." and "Thomas."  She couldn't remember what happened after. 

And now he lay dead and her dreams with him.  They had never started a family, they had never gotten a house, they hadn't even been able to afford a car, something he constantly nagged her about, trying to guilt her in to using her inheritance to improve their lives.  Katherine had hoped that if Thomas learned the value of hard work that he'd be happier than if he was just handed money, but that had obviously failed him.  Just like she had.  Finally, against her will, a low moan came from the pit of her soul.  Then the tears that felt heavy like molten lead.

"THOMAS!"  She screamed and lunged towards the coffin, desperate to see his face, the twinkle of his eyes, the jaunty quirk of his lips when she made him laugh.  Anything. Anything but the expressionless mask of death she saw now.  Gentle hands pulled her back, a cup of hot tea was pressed into her icy hands as she was taken to the kitchen.  An older woman went to sit by the body as others flocked around the widow. 

There were gentle whispers and soft caresses but katherine had shut herself off again, trying to find another train of thought she could focus on. Finally, in the smothering dark, after the mourners had left her, she came to a decision.  If she had failed him in his life, she wouldn't fail him ever afterwards.  She had her purpose, she had a way to make it all up to him and it came down to one deadly thought. One single pressing idea. One that would never leave her alone.

Revenge. 

Ronin stood at the back of the room, observing the attendees of the funeral with little interest. His hood was raised to cover his tattoos, and he kept his hands inside his coat pocket to conceal his weapon.

Thomas was a good man, albeit a kid in the life when compared to Ronin. But Ronin had corrupted him, had brought him in, a few years back in New York. He felt some sort of guilt; however he didn't really know what that feeling might feel like, as he didn't really have feelings. He did the job, whatever happened afterwards, happened. Getting attached or connected with people was a weakness he never permitted himself to have.

And yet; here he was at this man's funeral, watching his widow attempt to stifle her sobs. A younger Ronin would have comforted her. Not in an attempt to make her feel better, but in an attempt to take advantage of her weakness and vulnerability, whether for business or pleasure.

But something had changed in him in recent years. It may have been wisdom, hell it might have just been maturity. But he kept his distance from her, and let her mourn the memory of Thomas in peace.

As the room started to thin out, and the majority of the mourners had said their goodbyes and taken their leave, Ronin made his way up to the casket and looked down on the man he once knew. He had certainly aged well in the past six years. He didn't look a day over nineteen. Ronin's remorseless eyes scanned up and down the body, looking for a cause of death. He did not appear to have been beaten, or maimed in any way. That narrowed it down to either a bullet or poison. But he dare not inspect further and incite awkward questions.

As he turned to take his leave, the widow caught his eye. Ronin's cold grey eyes locked with her deep brown ones, leaking tears like old plumbing. He held her gaze for mere moments, but felt that those moments said far more than he ever really could. Then he made his way out of the building.