Paul Norton was about to die. 

Paul, if that was his real name, always knew it would end like this.  And, from his vantage point, it had always been an acceptable risk.  Until now.  Now, fear crept up his back on fish hook claws.  Stupidly, a line from a movie traipsed through his mind.  To die would be the greatest adventure…  Spoken by the ultimate Lost Boy.  But what if that Lost Boy was wrong?  He swallowed over the lump in his throat.  It would do no good to protest.  The first of the five stepped forward and Paul felt the blade slash across his chest.  From behind, another blade caught at his spine.  They would carve him up like a cuisinart.  His friends…  He knew every face, every voice.  Only a friend can betray.  He deserved their scorn, their hatred…their justice.  He must pay for his indiscretion.  It is the way things work.  Small comfort, but it could not be any other way. 

The pain set in, sharp and sudden.  It raged through his insides, a lunatic beast, trampling his worthless life with hooves of fury.  His breathing slowed, then raced, then slowed again.  His heart pumped.  Blood flowed.  The pavement slammed against his jaw.  He finally screamed.  With sudden acuity, a tear rent the fabric between this life and the next and Paul saw through - to the other side.  Suddenly the pain of dying was preferable.  At least if he was in pain, he was still alive.  His spirit turned and fled back from the edge.  His ebbing life was better than the judgment that lay beyond the rift.  Terror!  He fought back.  With super human strength, he clawed, kicked, bit.  No matter.  Nothing could save him now.  His only regret lay in the eyes of his executioners.  He left this world, dragged off into the beyond, leaving nothing behind but claw marks and blood.

***

“What do you have?”  Sergeant Stedman, New Jersey Narcotics, strode into the morgue, past Jennifer Reyes, and pulled back the sheet.  He swore.  Then he swore again. 

“They didn’t leave much of him,” Jen stated, unnecessarily.  She tugged the latex gloves on a little tighter.  She resembled a mix of nurse and mechanic, with the face mask and safety glasses, and her dark hair pulled back tightly.  “The ear is definitely his, though.”  The right ear had been mailed, next day delivery, from the main post office in Newark.  Directly to Stedman.  The message came through, loud and clear.  This is what we do to informants. 

Stedman sighed heavily.  He knew Norton worked both sides.  It was a vain hope, but a hope nonetheless, that Norton might make it through.  That he might rise up from the wreckage created by his own choices.  The most infuriating thing for Stedman was the brevity of the hope – that and the fact that the bad guys were so often one step ahead of him.  “Let me know if you find anything else.”

“Will do.”  Jen pulled the sheet back the rest of the way and prepared to examine the body.  With one gloved hand, he reached up to turn on the microphone that hung from the ceiling above the body.  In her experience, dead men did tell tales.  “Talk to me, boy,” she said softly, as the door whooshed shut behind her and Stedman’s footsteps faded down the hall.