The graceful worried tap of the hands, the delicate flutter of eyes did nothing to please him. Men that were fooled by that pretence were weak, and stupid, too lazy to see beyond it. He pited them, he pited everyone, because he knew their fear their secret that they were all constantly trying to escape from. Was he supposed to feel sorry for her? With a dead husband and a newly born fresh deceased mother? Everyone had their sob stories, each one different but similarly pathetic. He told Llewelyn the price he'd have to pay, but he thought he was smarter than the average redneck, he thought that he could just take the money, shoot all the bad guys and a live off a lifetime supply of frozen spam at Walmart. Was Moss really that dense? He had his chance to spare her, prove that he was her knight in cheap shirt armour but he refused, if she should blame anyone, it should be him. If he was real husband, a real provider, a real person, he wouldn't have endangered her, but his ego came first, and she'd realise that soon enough, when she saw him again. He asked her again to call it, the blankness of her face almost matched his but not quite, there was still a scent of worry there that clung to her like a cheap perfume. He held the tunnel exit of his weapon in his hand hoping to make it short and sweet, this wasn't a case of right of wrong, good or bad. Her husband, the person she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with had started this, and now he would end it.
"Wait" Carla Jean said in a whisper. "Mind if I pray?" She asked. "Mind? No" He told her as she clasped her hands together. The breath she took first was the slowest. "Llew, mama I'm sorry, sorry that I couldn't...even though it was none of my business. God help this guy too" She said looking at Anton with a confused expression. That was more than enough crap than he saw fit. He cocked the tunnel up and released the bolt. Carla jean's head rocked back, her eyes tilted up to the heavens, he was doing her a service. Taking her by the bolt's hand and guiding her to her husband, but she'd probably be comforted by her "mama" Even an elegant death couldn't change trailer trash. Anton opened his legs, quickly closed them and got up, picking up his weapon. The simplicity of the act felt dull and he needed the flames of a livewire to test his patience.