Venom
Colin FalconerRené Budjinski did not hear a word of the public prosecutor's opening speech. He was reliving those last climactic hours in Varanasi, and asking himself, as he asked himself so many times, if it had all been worth it. The past year had seemed endless, waiting for this day when perhaps the sacrifice could be justified.
He stared at the back of the man’s head sitting in front of him, watched a bead of sweat squeeze from under the man's turban and find a wrinkled channel down the brown and creased neck.
Was it enough that they had him in chains, that the killing had stopped? What would they do to him? Would any punishment be enough?
He raised his head and searched the mass of faces. Michel was slouched in his chair, his wrists manacled in his lap. He wondered what he was feeling. Confusion? Fear? Panic? His face betrayed nothing.