Patrick strips off his clear raincoat, now stained with splatters of blood, and places it to the side, on the couch.

The blood casts his face with delicate strokes of rage, as if the artist had grown too angry with the painting to finish it.

He sits down, stepping over Paul's body, as he takes out a cigar from his breast pocket. His face is eerily expressionless as he fiddles with a lighter, flicking it against the cigar calmly.

At least now that's over.