It began so long ago, but not long enough for anyone to forget, in a village in the North that no longer had a name. It was a space that not many people shared but somehow still felt congested. Some older folks blamed on the constant high humidity. It was almost always cold there, never reaching above fifty degrees even in the summertime. The sun came out for a few hours a day then receded; allowing the clouds would swallow it up for the rest of the time along with its meager warmth. There was a thick ever-present fog that hovered above the town that started from dawn until mid-afternoon before dispersing a bit. It thick was enough for one to see past a mile but no more than that. A forest lay close to the village on a small hill that was visible to all as well as a short walk away. The dying trees reached well above the compact houses and stretched as far as the eye could see.

There used to be a time that the older folks talked about when living were good. It used to be a place for hunters but was no more. All the big game had gone from this place a generation ago due to overhunting in the forest. That was what they said to one another but that was the lie that kept them safe and unhappy. The old folks tell their grandchildren stories of the good times when food was plentiful, trade was booming, and of the giant old beasts that they'd hunt. No one, save the old, liked to talk about how good times used to be. There was too much to be done in the day to hear about how things would never be again. But the stories of beasts were always the children's favorite; they were everyone's favorite. In one's spare time, it had been normal to look at the forest and to wonder. Not its beginning but deep into its unilluminated eye. That was where the stories were but no new stories would come from again. There was no need to go that far anymore. There was nothing there for them to live off; if one could call existing in such a quickly perishing place 'living'. The hunters stayed on the outskirts in the area that the sun could touch and bring back small game that consisted of rabbits, turtles, and snakes. One a rare, joyous occasion a deer would wander out of the forest and a fortunate hunter would do their work with it.

No one old enough to know talks about in earnest of why they don't enter the forest. That is, when they're reasonably sober.

This in mind, all would say that it came as a terrible shock when they saw him come out of the ancient wood that day. He came in the sunset. The light at his back. It looked as if were pushing him, guiding him on. Perhaps it was keeping him from harm. The young man arrived carrying a small sad smile, a small battered black suitcase, and an even smaller but well-kept burgundy shoe box. He nice red suit was a few sizes too big for him, that was for certain. It looked as if he was struggling to walk in it. He was a pretty young thing with his thick black-brown hair tied back in a thin ribbon and his hickory skin. Even with the bruises! They didn't look fresh; the bruise of the edge of his lip and left eye were a yellow color then. Maybe there were more under his clothes. Perhaps that was the reason he had been walking so strange.

He had said hello to everyone he had passed when he arrived but no one spoke back. They were still in awe of him; coming from the forest like that to say "Hello!" with a smile like that! He must have been an omen of disaster or one of the beasts the elder folks had thought at first. He even spoke kindly to the women that worked at the brothel who stared at him with horror mixed along with wide-eyed wonder alongside all the rest of the town. It was like a big event where everyone was either in the street to stare or viewing from the windows of their homes. A one-man parade. No one spoke then. They just stared. That had been a month ago, and they all had felt so silly now that had gotten to know the young man. Slade didn't know all this for himself. He'd just been listening to the loud woman across from the bar tell her tale to a friend that was there to visit her.

"Richard? Tha's an awful big name for a place like this. Must be a rich boy!" Her friend joked. She had been away visiting her dying mother. She'd just come back and had missed all previous buzz. That had gotten a laugh out of the storyteller as well as many others around them. Several people in the bar had gathered around to listen even though they'd already known. It was like the 'Richard' was a celebrity. They must have liked him to want to hear about him.

"Yer right about that!" Earl, the youngest of the elder generation, chimed in. He was loud, clearly inebriated. Drink in hand, waving it around as he spoke. "I spoke to 'im the day he come around here. He done told me he was from that port city Gotham! Goddam Gotham! Everyone livin' there is rich! Goddam Gotham! Takin' all our trade away. Takin' all our business. We ain't got much to offer but what we make better is better 'n what they can produce, I jus' know it! But he's a good boy, I think. He works like he's one of us; good manners on 'im too." Everyone that knew nodded their heads and grinned. They were even showing their teeth.

He'd just gotten back. This had been news to him.

'Boy' was what he'd called him. A 'boy' that was actually a man but because he was aged, he could call many men 'boy'. The first time he had almost spoken to him was the second evening he had been back in town. He was away. He'd had work outside the town. He walked tall and didn't smile as he made his way to the bar in the town square that held all the shops. The sun was going down. He could tell because it was getting colder, the sun couldn't have told him. The streets were almost bare, as it usually was this time of day. However, the people that were there would ignore his presence with little effort. He rarely spoke to anyone. Slade intentionally became a ghost to the townspeople. He rarely made eye contact. And this time he had but it hadn't been his fault; there was someone new in town. A person unrecognizable to him was sweeping out the shop that made and sold clocks. The blue-eyed youth smiled a bit when their eyes met. He probably smiles at everyone. Slade found that he was unwilling to look away. The well-dressed boy made like he was about to speak but the middle-aged shop keeper pulled him by his forearm inside before he could. The older man kept walking but made to surreptitiously listen to the man's hiss at the boy.

"That was the man I was tellin' you about, lad!" He heard the whisper.

"The 'bad news man'!? Oh, he's too handsome to..." and that was all he was able to hear before he was out of reach. Slade had cursed himself for slowing down if only a little. Since that day, the nice young man would look at him when he'd passed then look around to see if anyone was watching and would smile at him if no one was. This only was enough to get him out of the house during the day sometimes. Though he would never admit this to himself! And though a small part of the front of his mind would admit to liking his appearance; he had but a single grievance to bare against him.

The boy played his music early in the morning with his window wide open on a music machine that he'd bought from the owner of the shop that he'd worked at. It was loud enough to hear from the edge of the wood. Beyond there one could still feel it's vibrations. It was almost like a wake-up call to the village people. It was agreed that this was more so alright because "No decent and hardworking' folks would even be still sleep" by the time that the music was heard. Besides, he was the most interesting thing that had happened there in decades. He was from the city, of course he would bring that fun city nonsense here. Slade had been walking home from a late night a few weeks after he'd arrived back. He was tired, aching, the cold was not helping him; therefore, it was safe to say that he was on edge. He had gotten used to it after a few weeks. No one else had complained about the music so he thought not to say anything. Every day at dawn, the women at the brothel would sit on the porch of their building with their eyes closed, smiles on their faces listening to the sweet morning sounds. The boy had lived in the building adjacent to theirs.

"Damn, women," he'd muttered dragging his feet. They couldn't like the music all the time, could they? His walk was slow and his breathe came up staggered yet he managed to walk tall. He'd made up his mind to say something on that day. He'd thought to do it kindly even though there wasn't a kind bone in his body. Perhaps it was because he had found it difficult to speak to attractive people too roughly. Or maybe it was because he was so tired that morning. No one can really say. Either way, he'd made his way up the stairs of the rickety wood building that smelled like mildew and to the room that Slade had known was his. The jazz made it easy to find without asking for help. Not that he would ask for help. He stood there a moment in his heavy autumn coat. His muscles sang a dolce yet sad song to the rest of his huge body.

"Are you lost, sir?" The boy was next to him. He hadn't even heard him. Such intense body pain will dull one's senses, is what he said to give himself credit. Slade stood up straighter before turning to him, it made him bigger. He wasn't smiling this time. The man looked sad. Too sad for such a sweet morning but just right for such a melancholy little corner of the world. He was dressed in a fine bright blue big city robe that was tied securely along with worn out black slippers. He held a bowl of black coffee in his right hand while the other was on his hip. His hair was still pulled back, his thick eyebrows were furrowed. "You need help home or can you cross the street on your own?" That was said in a way that was intended to be rude. Not an early riser then. Slade's lips pursed as his eye narrowed.

"Turn you damn music down, boy. This look like the city to you?" He snarled feeling insulted. He wasn't elderly nor did he think he looked it! The youth shrugged his shoulders indifferently while walking around the man, his robe flowing at his heels, then opened his door to walk in.

"Well, you're the first person to complain about it," he replied closing the door. Slade growled quietly before he stuck his boot up against the door before it closed. The youth scrunched his nose looking at Slade with as much indifference as someone like him could. Which was a lot. "but I'll turn it down." The door was slammed and that was that. Slade went back to his house on the far side of the small village where he could still hear the jazz a bit but slept the rest of that day through. But the next day, when he went to see the boy out sweeping he had done his looking and smiling routine with him as if nothing happened. After a few days, the boy's music was as loud as it had been before. Slade said nothing.

The next time was in the dimly lit sweaty bar. He was having his usual drink in the corner they everyone knew belonged to him when he was home. All attempts to make nice with him had ceased long ago. He was one of those people that liked being alone. Everyone had respected that or was maybe a bit afraid. He was relieved that they now pretended he wasn't there. Sometimes, he liked to pretend he wasn't anywhere too. He didn't like to socialize but Wilson enjoyed the small-town talk. He'd listen to them. They're troubles, drunken rants, and small-town gossip. He liked knowing what was going on without the trouble of speaking. The bar was nearly empty tonight, not much was being said. Going home was not something he wanted to do. The house was too empty. The night quiet made it even emptier, he'd thought. And then he felt a small warm weight next to him. He knew who it was, didn't even look up from his drink.

"Awful night to be all on your lonesome, Mister." he'd said, imitating the townsfolk accent. That got Slade to look at him with a frown that he didn't really feel.

"Sit somewhere else, boy."

"I jus' fine here, old timer"

"That's not funny," Slade growled showing his teeth to get him away. It was funny but that didn't mean he could laugh right now. "You won't keep being friendly with these country bumpkins if they hear you making fools of them or see you being friendly with me."

"I'm just having fun." The youth simply said smiling down at his drink, his cheeks flush a bit.

"You must be drunk."

"I said I was here to have a good time." He smiled disingenuously up at him. He smiled at him like he wanted to have a good time in the way that the women in the brothel show people of good time. The way that adults have a good time.

"You'll have to have it with someone else, I'm done for the night." He pulled out his money clip along with a few bills.

"Wait, no, I'll cover this." The brunette said fumbling in his coat pocket. "What are you drinking? Whiskey? My father drinks that! He doesn't talk a lot just like you. But he isn't as good looking as you!" He put the money down on the counter, waving the bartender over, ordering another drink for the two of them.

"I hunt people for a living." Slade said lowly looking at him. The boy looked up at him. A part of him wanted to be left alone yet another was dreading the rejection. It was the best way to start any conversation with someone one that's to be involved with when a person chooses Slade's type of lifestyle. He furrowed his brows and shook his head as if he'd already known.

"I came here to have a good time, Mister Bad News." He replied putting a hand on Slade's knee suggestively. A small victory is what it was. Being wanted always feels nice; even when you know that you're attractive. He wanted to have a good time tonight too. He didn't want to be lonely tonight. He wouldn't even have to pay the way he had sometimes. The boy couldn't be any farther from hideous but sleeping with him hadn't been what he'd been thinking about since his short time knowing him. Well, it might have been but he hadn't noticed. He'd ruin this though. He had a gift for it. And it's only a night. He'd rather not feel good and then to miss it later. Best to not have it at all then. What he wanted to say and what he knew that he'd end up saying would be different. He knew before he'd spoken. So, he didn't say anything at all. He did however brush the boys in a harsh manor when he walked past him to leave.

He'd taken up a new hobby besides drinking or "people listening": "People watching." Actually, it was "person watching." It was a singular person. The new boy in the village was a topic of interest with him now. Ever since he'd rejected him in the bar. In the nights, Slade would drink and listen to the townsfolk praise his name or share anecdotes that involved him that day. It was every single day. Something was always new like-

"Richard told me about this one time he was fishin' on a great lake in the far east where he…"

Or

"Dickie's been teachin' me ta use a needle and…"

Or

"I done seen Rick getting' them workin' gals to do backflips and cartwheels…"

How much can everyone talk about one person? It was as if everyone was so desparate for entertainment that they had to document the life a one unfamiliar person. He was no different though; he would soak up every piece of information that he'd heard like a sea sponge. He loved it but he was also worried for himself. Had he begun to become so small that he'd dedicate so much of his time to a stranger, like the people of this community are doing? On the other hand, he couldn't bring himself to even care about that. Maybe it was because he was bored. More so than everyone else that was trapped here. He had no kids to take care of. No wife to come home to or to work with. He was just trying to pass the time. What he was doing was healthy.

In the mornings, he would wake up to the jazz music. It still bothered him, but it meant something now. It was his time to get up and watch from his window. You could see everything from his window on the second floor of his house. It was, after all, a very small place. Forty-five minutes after it started, the music would stop. Seventeen minutes after that, the new boy would leave his building to go to work that was a mere thirty feet from his lodgings. He'd always say goodbye to the girls next door that were on the porch. He would say "Hello!" to everyone he passed on his way; to the cobbler, the baker's son, the book store owner. Then he'd disappear into the clock store for the next five hours. During this time, Slade had a chair by the window ready with a book and a drink. He'd wait there. After that was his lunch break that he would either spend at the chapel, or with the pretty young bookworm that walked with a cane, or he spent this time laughing with the girls on the porch.

On one occasion, Slade had gone to the chapel on the end street of the lodging building when he saw the boy go in. The sun had just gone behind the clouds as he entered the place for himself. He'd stayed in the pew at the back of the church on the opposite side. This time the bookworm was with the boy. They were sitting in the pew together chatting.

"I didn't know you were the religious type, Dick." She said.

"You mean, just like I didn't know your 'paw' was the sheriff in the next little village over?"

"That's not funny, brat," She replied nudging him in the arm with hers.

"I am funny. Truly, a world class jokester." After that he'd gone quiet for a spell before dropping to his knees in the pew before sighing. "I don't believe in this sort of thing though, Miss Gordon. I think it's a bit of a waste of time: praying and praising. Praying is a lot like wishing. Too many people spend too much time praying or wishing and waiting but not doing. And as for praising, I've decided I didn't want live my life for some big man that won't let me understand him anymore." I sighed again. "It's not like I'm praying to anyone when I'm here. I usually just need a silent place talk to my parents. Religion has too many damn rules anyway; everyone can't follow all of them. Someone's got to be lying about doing all of it right!" He laughed loudly. Which was probably okay because the Father was out in the bar for lunch and no one else was in there at the time.

"We are in a church! You ain't supposed to swear in here!" She hissed at that only made him laugh louder. Once he'd stopped it had gotten quiet again. A hallow quiet. That's when the Gordon girl finally spoke. "That last part you'd said, Dick. I'm no expert here, but I think that's what the forgiveness is 'posed to be for." And that was that. He stared into her eyes and she looked back. They stayed like that for what seemed like years. Years to finally see one another. Until he finally looked at her too. Then he was able turn back to his praying that was not praying.

In front of the chapel, was a stain glass window. It depicted a pale man with long blonde hair and silver wings that was looking down on the pews, his arms stretched out wide. The servant of "God" was surrounded by light blue glass. It was probably supposed to be the wide-open sky.

The boy was still kneeling before it all. His eyes were closed, his head bowed while his hands clasped together in prayer-like gesture. It was one of those days where the sun was out, shining more than usual. The light from outside had finally escaped from the clouds and hit the stained glass so fine. The fantastic bright colored glass shone down on the boy, illuminating his face, hair, and eyelashes. The dust speckles around him seemed to be floating. Just then a wind saw its way from the back of chapel. Slade knew then, that man in the glass man may have had the wings, but this boy before him at this very moment was a true angel.

The day of the autumn Holiday, all the shops and the bar closed; the brothel even locks up early that afternoon. It was a hardworking but still a family village after all. Slade had no family close by. If he had they wouldn't want to see him anyhow. His annual routine of staying home and drinking in his warm empty house was interrupted that day. He opened his window so that he could smoke his nicer cigars when he saw the city boy bundled up in the late darkness while scuttling down the empty street. Slade scratched the back of his head.

"I'm not hurting anyone," he said lighting his cigar, watching the youth. The forest was in that boy's path. The old man sighed loudly. They probably told him, like they told him about me. All places were more dangerous when the sun went down. Even children knew that. But then here the youth was, making his way to the edge of forest very quickly. Slade froze for a moment. He didn't like to get involved with the people here. The boy was a part of the people here now. Then again, he had been watching him for an unhealthy amount of time. Perhaps he was just going for a late-night walk or looking for some mischief.

But anything going near that forest this time of day could would most definitely be found by mischief. Hurrying, Slade shoved his boots on and grabbed his heavy coat, shrugging it on as he left the house. He walked calmly in the cold dark evening towards the area where he'd seen the dark-haired youth scurry away. He was just reaching the town square after a few minutes of strolling. The air bit at his cheeks, his thick whickers protected him from the cold for the most part. The wind tonight was strong. It would only get stronger as well as chiller as the days approached winter. All the elements that made people hurt always got worse near the winter in this town; the air, the chilled rain, and the silence. It was almost silent on this night. The merriment of the people in the bars, from the houses, and the buildings were a short way behind him. The absence that he'd felt in the unlit square was reminiscent of the absence he'd felt for most of his life. The nothingness, the hole in the center of all things, the hole inside of him that sapped all the goodness that people had tried to share with him.

The growing darkness from his descent to the wood troubled him. Not in the way that he was worried for himself but for unsuspecting out-of-towners. His eyes adjusted to the dark of the night as he approached the large growth to look around its outer hedge layer. Where could he have gone? Not into the forest? Slade stepped into the woodland area as quietly as he was able. He would only check the outer layer of the holy place. If the boy had gone in deeper than that then he was a fool that shouldn't be traveling on his own in the first place.

"Mmmm," To his left he heard a muffled moan of pain that wasn't quite in the eye but still too close to it for comfort. It had been his voice, that was for certain. He must be in trouble. Had one of them come from the forest to terrorize the child? Slade realized he left his knife at home. He would have to fight the beasts with his bare hands, he concluded silently shrugging his coat of while clandestinely still making his way over to the injured young man. "Ah, Wally!" That had gotten Slade to stop. A cold like no other seeped into his face and chest. He knows he did not come out here to find some young people sin in a place that wants nothing more than to kill anyone that comes to close to it. The boy must be in peril. That thought and his "rational curiosity" kept him advancing, this time with more stealth. If he was injured by something then it would not hurt to be careful. And if it was the "sinnin'" that was happening than it might have been more reason to be cautious. If it was that then he would just leave, is what he'd told himself. That was a half-truth.

As he went in a bit deeper he saw the tangerine mop of hair lower on the ground about seven feet in front of him. He stopped to cover himself behind a tree. It was the West's boy. The owned the town's bakery. They had good bread, he never tried anything sweet that they had to offer though. Their boy was a quiet one for the most part. There was no one around the village that was close to his age. Either they were too young or too old to be friends with him. He heard that he'd been planning on going to a school in the city and was saving up his money for it. He was well into adulthood though and it seemed a bit late for him to be wanting to be anywhere else that what he'd always known. But that wasn't for Slade to say, really. He was on his knees, head buried between the boy's legs. The boy who he called 'boy' but was a man and now was seeing him doing what adults do. Anger was in the front of his mind but not enough anger to stop watching or stop them.

"It's Wallace," West told him sternly to which the boy giggled before getting on his knees so to be able to kiss him. A slow kiss. A sweet one. One you'd hum into. One you'd give to a lover. The boy wrapped his arms around his neck while West's were already at his waist. Fiddling with the fly in his pants. His fists balled up; he didn't want to watch this. Or perhaps he did. Perhaps he wanted to be a part of this. Wilson felt heat begin to surface in his face, teeth and groin in this place absent of warmth. Oh, how his teeth ached at this. It may have been that a small part of him had wanted to be where the West boy was.

His eye rose from their lower areas that were being exposed, back up to the boy's face. His face that was looking at his face through the darkness. All at once, the cold had returned to him. Those striking blue eyes staring at him. Glaring at him. West was at his neck now, huffing like a dog. The boy continued to glare at him. He thought to move but a small part of him was holding out hope that he hadn't really been seen. That he was just glaring in displeasure into the darkness because of West's sloppy work. The city boy pulls his lips up into a snarl. Displaying a look of unadulterated disgust before pulling the older of the two into another kiss, the brunette didn't break eye contact with him the entire time. Stilling glaring unblinkingly at him. Slade turned to leave.