moderation.

He opened his eyes, and spurred by all those falsehoods, those dark, hidden sins, sins his mother had warned him about, sins for which he'd been brutally punished, he slipped through the shadowy corridors and felt again that he'd finally come home, he had returned to make things right. He moved noiselessly, leaving lanterns burning at critical junctures, golden light from tiny flames washing up against what had once been gleaming, pristine walls. Now black mould was evident, down here. dark stains enroaching on dusty, dirty squares of the tile that had covered the walls of this area of the hospital basement. This was the part that had always been locked and kept secret, a place where the light of day never shone, where few knew what travesties had occured Those who had known had held their tongues and had expected the treachery and vile acts to be forgotten. oh, how wrong they were. Nothing was forgotten. Nothing was forgiven. His mother had taught him these valuable lessons. With his key, he unlocked a final door and stepped into the windowless room where his belongings were stashed, He lit candles and walked to the small secretary-desk with it's peekaboo cabinets. It was unlocked. From his pocket he withdrew the ring, a tiny gold band with a winkling red stone. For a second he rubbed the metal circle between his forefinger and thumb, remembering the girl who had worn it. Heat thrummed through his bloodstream and he licked his lips. So perfect she was...so unaware. He noticed the blood on the perfect gold circle. Her blood. So much the better. He relived the act of placing the gun into her fingers, of squeezing the trigger, of feeling her smooth, supple back pressed into his abdomen, then fall away as death took her. She had been so frightened and he knew he could have forced her into submission. Perfect he thought as the candles burned and the water dripped in the hallway. This was the first step though he was far from finished.