Back in Austin Danny stood nude in front of a publicity photograph of John. It was taped to the wall in his bedroom at home and he was in the process of stabbing it repeatedly with a large hunting knife. With every stab of the knife he sobbed even harder, then dragged the knife blade across his forearm drawing blood that he smeared across the photograph, then went back to stabbing the picture of John Travis.
“It’s all your fault!” he sobbed. “You came from nowhere! A tall dark stranger and you took her away! Now, you’ll pay! You’ll pay dearly! I gave you everything! Now, I’ll take it all away! You made a fool of me. Now I’ll make a corpse of you!” He slammed the knife into the photograph and left it there, then turned away and stepped to the dresser.
On the dresser was a half full bottle of whiskey, a small bottle of pills and the .45 automatic. He shook a pill out of the bottle and tossed it into his mouth, then chased it with a swallow of the whiskey. He grabbed the pistol and jacked the slide, then cocked the hammer back and placed the barrel against the side of his head. He gritted his teeth and squeezed the trigger.
The hammer slammed onto an empty chamber and Danny collapsed in a fit of crying and sobbing. He held the .45 to the side of his face and slowly, passionately kissed and licked the side of the barrel, then inserted it into his mouth.
“It’s a sign, John,” he said, pulling it from his mouth and licking up the side of the weapon. “Now, you’ll die and I’ll be famous! The man who killed John Travis, Junior!”