Kristoff saw her on the way home from school.

She was a standard kid with fuzzy strawberry blond hair and hazel eyes, getting picked on by standard schoolyard bullies. Normally Kris didn't look twice at shit like this because watching it bothered him. But on some rare occasions, it bothered him not to watch.

This poor kid was being shoved back and forth between two girls bigger than her, while another watched. The fucked up part was that there were two faculty members having a chat just a few meters off. One of them took a lazy glance at the action before giving a huff and calling out some lame ass warning like, 'play nice, girls.' "We are!" roared one of the bullies in response, kicking the kid in the shins. Kristoff pursed his lips and glanced away, but the sound of hiccups grated against his ears and made him look again. He wished he hadn't.

Now the kid had started to cry. Big fat gulps of tears. Tears that couldn't be shaken by the hottest summer sun. This kid was having the worst day of her life and Kristoff was standing by covering the sidewalk with salt while the big snow disposal machine rolled the brown stuff down the road. Things were peachy.

"Please s-stop!" stuttered the kid between gusts of breath, sniffing and sputtering. "I- I'll tell my friend Jack on you! He'll kick your asses."

"Fuck kid!" hissed Kristoff under his breath. "Never say shit like that!" Per expectation the poor kid's face was shoved into the dirt.

"Eat piss!" one of the other girls called. "Where's Jack now? Where is he? Hey jack!" she called in a loud voice. The others began calling the name 'Jack' as well. No one came. In fact, as they began chanting Jack's name louder, jumping up and down on the dirt kid's back, the students around them hovered away in anxiety, playing elsewhere while the teachers averted their gaze. For about three minutes Kristoff took the onslaught in silence. Then he left the salt shovel lying on the ground and trudged towards the schoolyard fence in anger, where dirt kid was being fed grass from beneath the snow. When one bully undid her pants to pee on a chunk of ice nearby, terrible images of dirt kid being forced to lick it bulldozed into Kristoff's mind and sprung him forward like a wild cat. Soon he was at the edge of the fence and shaking its metal rungs. Shocked, all four bullies glanced up with wide eyes towards Kristoff, who looked at them with clenched fists.

"Hey you little fucks," he snarled.

"Are you Jack?" one of the kids blubbered. But Kristoff shook his head.

"My name is Kris. And if you hurt my man again I'll bulldoze your asses with my snow machine." At this point one of the bullies began crying profusely, while another one whizzed towards one of the faculty members and tugged on his shirt. The rest backed away from the fence and disappeared, leaving dirt kid to her own devices as she stood and dusted herself off. Her face was stained with mud and tears, which she wiped off with the sleeve of her shirt. Then she nodded to Kristoff. "Thanks for saving my butt," she muttered, sniffing again. With that, she turned and trudged towards the other side of the playground, disappearing behind some evergreens near the fence. Kristoff shook his head as he looked at her. But soon his eyes settled on a much more distressing subject.

A male teacher was stalking towards him with the school policeman, who had somehow materialized from inside the building three seconds after the bullies stepped away from dirt kid. Kristoff scowled as the two trudged forward. But instead of staying to have a chat, he slunk back towards his shovel and began working on the snow again. When he looked back the teacher and policeman were gone.

Chuckling, Kristoff continued his work. He even whistled for a little while, until he heard a group of footsteps trundling towards him. When he saw the bodies they belonged to he groaned. The teacher had formed a posse of two policemen and the presumable administrator, who adjusted his glasses and pumped his chest forward in the worst kind of macho affectation as they strode through the school's front double doors and made their way towards Kristoff.

"What's the matter officer?" drawled Kris, swinging his shovel around so that it sat over his shoulder. As he did one of the policeman removed his gun from his holster and pointed. "Don't you fucking get any closer, Sami!" the policeman roared, and Kristoff gritted his teeth. "Who the hell said I was Sami?"

"I've seen your fat grandparents skulking around and I don't like you one bit," the cop snapped, his eyes bulging from his sockets. When Kristoff stepped forward and swung his shovel to the ground, the teachers surrounding the policeman hit the deck and screamed, cowering and covering their heads as the policeman moved in on Kristoff like he was a big powder doughnut. In shock Kristoff backed towards the salt machine, which was making a returning round down the street. Beckoning for the man in the driver's seat to help him, he kept the shovel held protectively in front of him while the policeman tried to close the distance between them.

"Stand down!" the policeman shrieked, gesticulating his gun in all directions as Kristoff stepped backwards. "I just want to get my manager to clear this up for me. He's in the salt machine," added Kristoff with a grin, pointing to the man in the salt machine. To show his returning good will the policeman fired a warning shot through the sidewalk at Kristoff's feet, making the young man yelp and jump back in fear. When the gun was pointed again, the sweat began dripping from Kris' face and he held up his hands in surrender. "Don't shoot me," he whispered, biting his lip in fear. "I'm really young and I'd like to live at least twenty more years in the sun."

"There won't be any sun where you're going!" sang the policeman, nearly dancing. His excitement was boundless, leading Kristoff to believe that he hadn't gotten this sort of action since training school. Or maybe he was experiencing PTSD, the way Nam vets did when they got back to America in the seventies. Oh, wait this guy wasn't even thirty.

"Stand down!" roared the cop. The buttons at his throat looked ready to burst. "Stand the fuck down!"

"I'm unarmed!" cried Kristoff. "I'm white, you can't shoot!"

"Stand DOWN!"

"But-"

"STAND DOWN!"

Caught between a rock and a hard place, Kristoff looked from side to side in panic. He had never been good in a crisis. And in this crisis, on the verge of death, he was spastic. Right about now the empty road looked like heaven. If he could get across, he could disappear into the alleyway at the side of the street and hide in the Super Target with the bedclothes until things cleared up. Making his decision, he bounded forward, followed by three whizzing bullets, none of which caught him. When he cleared the center of the road, he gave a victorious whoop and punched his fist into the air with a smile.

"I'M GOING TO LIVE!" he cried with joy. Unfortunately, the blare of the snow machine horn was the last thing he heard that day.

...

When Kristoff woke up he lay in a down bed of white, like snow. Ah. Heaven. He always new he'd make it, somehow.

Glancing to the side was a window made of ice, with little frost ferns inlaid against its surface like cut diamond. A crystalline glass of water lay to his side. He reached for it and squeezed it in his hands. The water ran over its crushed top and splattered onto the floor. Okay, maybe not glass. Maybe just plastic. But the remaining water tasted good against his lips. Tasted like plain old Burgess water.

Spitting it out, Kristoff slammed his fist against his bedside table and glanced around for his glasses. They weren't there, and someone had removed his contacts. His right arm hurt like a bitch and he couldn't move his fingers. For some reason it was covered in a snow blanket, which was warm and hard like papier-mâché. It was kind of sweaty, too. He could feel his skin inside the cast and he wanted to itch it so bad he felt like crying. But then there was the creak of a door opening, and two people in blue outfits shuffled towards him and sat at his side.

"Who's there?" cried Kristoff, trying to sit forward, but he was pushed back with a gentle prod.

"Kristoff, we're the police," said a woman's voice. The other blue suit was silent. "Since you are unfit for interrogation in a normal facility we are going to do it here. I want you to know that you are on charges of sexual and social misconduct."

"What the fuck for?" barked Kristoff in response. A burly hand fell on his shoulder and squeezed, scaring him. With his snow blanket arm he whacked at the hand grasping his shoulder and cried out in pain, holding the snow blanket and twitching his fingers to see if they worked. Suddenly he felt really tired. Sighs escaped around him and he sighed too. "You verbally assaulted four young girls and then you caused a public disturbance by attempting suicide in broad daylight."

Loud tisking escaped the silent policeman while Kristoff snorted. "How did I abuse those kids?"

"Their teachers informed us you told them you would "bulldoze their asses with your snow machine", Kristoff. Is that true?"

As Kristoff looked on in hazy disbelief, his jaw dropped and he groaned. "Are you seriously questioning the context of that statement?"

"What is the context of the statement, Kris?" growled the burly policeman, making Kristoff cower a little even though he couldn't properly see him without glasses. Kristoff shrugged and decided to explain.

"I am an employee of Burgess Salt-Man. Every winter I shovel salt onto the sidewalk while the Salt Man mows down the center of the street."

"Go on," interrupted the female cop, and Kristoff looked in her general direction with a scowl. "I was!"

"Anyway," he added with a huff, "I was on a normal work schedule when I noticed this poor kid being bullied in the school yard. Those girls were shoving her face into the ground. One of them almost forced her to lick piss. I don't stand for that shit," added Kristoff in a loud voice. He could almost feel the cringe of the cops, but he didn't care, as he was proving his innocence. "So I went over and told them I'd bulldoze them."

"With your snow machine," added the woman, and Kristoff smiled. "Exactly!"

"And you do not believe that is sexual assault?" elaborated the cop. Kristoff snorted. "There was nothing sexual about that statement. I meant I would literally take the Salt Man machine and run them over with it if they bullied the kid again."

"Still, that is verbal abuse," murmured the female cop. Kristoff shrugged. "They won't be bothering dirt kid for a long time."

"Dirt kid?" barked the male cop, and Kristoff began to sweat. Backtracking, he waved his good hand in the air and spoke again. "She was the kid who was being bullied. They shoved her face in dirt. I was bullied as a kid, so I felt for her. I wanted to help her and I did! The teachers weren't doing shit."

"Did you know this child?"

"No."

"Then why were you helping her?"

"Because they were shoving her face in the mud!"

"If you are such a Good Samaritan, why did you run into the street when the cop confronted you?"

"Because he tried to shoot me!"

"You swung your shovel at him."

"I was resting it over my shoulder."

"You swung it a second time."

"I was putting it on the ground so I could surrender!"

"Then why did you run if you had surrendered?"

"Because he shot at me!"

Exasperated, Kristoff let out a long groan and sat back in bed. He could pretty much tell where he was now, and he didn't like it one bit. Hospital beds had never been comfortable and never would be. He fidgeted as the police grilled him further.

"Why did you run into the street when the salt machine was coming your way?"

"I didn't see it!"

"You worked for the company for years and you didn't know the Salt Man route?"

"Not when I was being shot at by a policeman!"

Sighs escaped the police officers' throats again, and both stood with arms crossed. Kristoff could see the hazy shape of their fronts against the hall light.

"Kristoff," the woman muttered through gritted teeth. "We can do this the hard way, or the easy way."

"I pick the correct way," barked Kristoff while pointing to himself. "Which is that I am innocent!"

"Have it your way," snapped the female cop finally, turning on her heel. "We will see you in court." The burly cop followed close behind and shut the room door after him, rattling the empty plastic water cup as it sat against Kristoff's bedside table.

...

A month after the incident and Kristoff was still awaiting trial. In the meantime, life pretty much sucked.

Because of his good deed to lonely little dirt kid, Kristoff had been fired from his job and put in a suicide prevention program. He was seeing a councilor every other day of the week, and while making up melodramatic stories about his childhood was fun it was getting a tad uncomfortable. The third visit had culminated in a not so subtle sexual proposal. Kristoff politely declined to his doom. So now instead of attending counseling while living with his grieving parents, Kristoff was being transferred to a psych ward where he could cause himself 'no harm'. And it was all because he helped one little girl. A girl a lot like himself as a young one- bright and adventurous. Kristoff didn't want that beaten out of anybody, though he knew life always found a way to do it somehow, to steal wonder from children. That, he hated.

He pondered on life lessons like that a lot in the bedroom of the psych ward. Some psych wards in Burgess were beautiful- that is, the expensive ones. Burgess County Psychiatric Unit was less than stellar. It was a direct addition to Burgess County Prison, which was as far away from the city as it could place itself. The psych ward, likewise, was tucked in a pleasant little dump at the edge of town. No grass grew in this place and the trees had perished long ago. Any left standing were bent with rot or in want of a cut. Kristoff counted seven as he glanced out the window, all hidden beneath a steep blanket of beautiful snow. Looking out on this pleasant view, of a world filled with brilliant dabs of green, brown, and red against vast white, Kris realized that the majority of his favorite season would be spent indoors. And that broke his heart. Luckily the trial to decide if he was innocent or crazy culminated next week. In the meantime he would have to hope for the best. His parents sure as hell didn't have the money to bust him out.

As he sat in bed sighing to the outside wind, there was a loud slam down the hallway and the sound of clicking heels. One of the nurses was making her rounds, quite possibly Diane, whom Kristoff could do without. "It's tough being the love expert," he sighed. He tried to make the outline of a reindeer with his sheets. To his not so surprise the rounding nurse stopped before his door and knocked, coming in after a moment's pause and singing hello. Kristoff mumbled in response and internally scowled as the woman took a seat at his side. Then she patted his hand and smiled. It was Sarah.

"Well, it looks like you're going to be going home tomorrow!" she murmured, rubbing his knuckles encouragingly. "The students have dropped their charges against you, and so have the teachers. Turned out the kids weren't telling the full story! They spit it all out in school yesterday."

"That's good," muttered Kristoff in confused response. He wondered what made everyone change their minds. Then the idea that this was all a dream entered his head and he sat back and pinched himself. Still awake.

"Your uncle was a great deal of help. And he brought to light your PTSD."

"PTSD?" barked Kristoff, and Sarah nodded. "We know you had many unfortunate run-ins with native gangs and police in the past, when you were a boy in Norway. The condition of the Sami in this part of Burgess is very important." Then she touched her heart. "I am one sixteenth myself."

"Sami?" asked Kristoff. Sarah snorted. "No, Finnish. White finish, that is." There was silence as the two looked around the room in thought. Then Sarah gave Kristoff's hand one more rub and asked him to get dressed. Obeying, Kristoff pulled on some blue scrubs and a white t-shirt before shuffling down the hall after Sarah's orthopedic clad feet. When he got to the lobby she jumped behind him and swept her hands over his eyes. "You have a guest!" she sang, nearly dancing. Kristoff lurched backwards in fright at the sensation of her padding hands on his eyelids and an 'oh!' escaped her throat as she let him go. When his eyes opened he scanned the room in distress. At a table on the far side of the room, a young, tan man dressed in a black suit sat with a latte by the long window. He glanced upon the snow outside with gritted teeth and rubbed his forehead as he coughed. His thick suit jacket was pulled tight around him. Kristoff shuffled forward instinctively and sat down in front of him. The tan man chuckled.

"Hello, nephew," he murmured, and Kristoff grasped his dark palm and squeezed, his expression livid. "Who the fuck are you?" whispered the young man. He gasped when the hand he held disintegrated and reformed at the man's side to smooth his black hair. "Pleased to meet you as well." He murmured. Then he leaned forward, his gray gold eyes following Kristoff's honey brown irises like moving flames. "My name is Kozmotis Pitchinus. And I've just facilitated your return into the world of the living."

"Why?" blurted Kristoff in response. Replying came a chuckle from Pitch's throat.

"Attend this address on the hour after your transfer and you will find out." With flashing eyes the man glanced at his pocket, where he drew a small slip of paper and distributed it into Kristoff's large palm. As the boy stared down at the page in front of him Pitch stood up and set a soft hand on his shoulder. "Be there or be sorry." Then Kristoff was alone, left by Pitch to decipher the strange note that had been delivered to him.