It is the end, at least for now:
He felt an urge to pray, to seek forgiveness for what he had done. He began silently with “Dear God,” but his mind stalled. The contrition was only a reflex, not real this time. It was only a grasp for certainty, just a reaction to his discomfort at not being able to know he had done the right thing. He stopped, closed down the channel of communication: “Amen,” he whispered. Nobody gets out of this life without doubt.
“Don’t give me anything else,” she said. “I don’t need it. Just go away now, so it can be over.”
“Last chance, Slick.”
“Live or die, ... You pick.”