"What's your reasoning behind that?" he questioned, still smiling.

Unconsciously, I must have begun to edge away from him. Still keeping eye contact with me, Mello gripped my wrist, freezing me instantaneously. My wide eyes followed his thumb as it slid against a blue vein, applying the slightest pressure with his fingernail. Briefly I wondered if it was something vital.

"W-well, Deston told me about some phone calls he received, and he thinks the caller was the killer," I babbled, trying to slow down my heart rate, "and I felt it was you. I-intuition, I guess. After that nothing fit-"

"Do you want me to be the killer? You would have me now. You could have your revenge."

"No," I immediately answered. Then I jerked my arm up, fully intending to smack myself on the forehead before remembering Mello had it in a stranglehold.

He released me. "I was going to. I dreamed about it, getting rid of them."

My breath caught, but he continued, "I didn't. I was beat to the prize."

"Why would you?"

"The idiots were the reason you're constantly worried, won't eat anything unpackaged, can't enjoy life. And you're too kind to retaliate."

"You'd be out of a job if they were dead."

He blinked, and for once I'd rendered him speechless. But soon, he retorted, "I have plenty of cash."

"Then why are you here, risking imprisonment for helping a murderer?"

"I-" He swallowed. "Like I said, your father paid me in advance. And you're innocent. I have a sense of justice."

Something was missing. Even today, looking back, I have yet to figure it out, as I certainly can't ask him now. As I opened my mouth to interrogate him, a yawn escaped me. So I filed the question away for a later that would never come and instead sleepily mumbled, "You didn't kill them?"

"No," he confirmed.

I blinked sluggishly and said, "Ahh... by the way, where are we going?"

"Germany."

"Germany?"

"I can't take you to my apartment in New York. They're definitely looking for you there."

I yawned again, much to my chagrin.

"You're tired. Sleep tight."

Aiming to be humorous, I slurred drowsily, "No bedbugs, right? You'd shoot them before they got anywhere near us."

"Yeah. I would."

-

We landed shortly afterward.

"I hardly know any German," I muttered, handing a bag to Mel.

"Well, I do. And you probably won't have to talk to anybody anyway. My house is in a forest."

"Seriously? That's awesome."

The airport was fairly uncrowded and looked very much like the one we had departed from. In an easy silence we strode toward the exit.

"HOLY- Mel, it's freezing!"

He gave me a look and suggested, "Try the bag of stuff I purchased for you."

"Oh. Huh."

He leaned against the wall as I riffled through the clothing he had given me. It was really nice stuff, the type of apparel my dad usually wanted me to wear.

I usually ended up at the checkout in Wal-Mart with the first striped shirt I could find. It was just a shame the place didn't sell suits.

I tugged on a coat and pulled out my wallet. "Um, how much?" I asked.

"What?"

"You know, for the clothes. I really have no idea how much you spent, other than that it was a lot."

"Keep your cash. You're going to need it."

"But, ah..."

Mel smiled. "I'm not poor, really. If someone had to guess, they'd say you were the one who lived in a cardboard box, Mr. Convenience Store Clothing."

I pocketed my wallet and stood up. "Yeah, whatever. How are we going to get to your log cabin in the wilderness?"

"We'll take a cab part of the way, then we'll walk the rest."

"Walk? In this weather?"

"Yep. You'll love it."

-

I hadn't loved it, as a matter of fact, but I did have to admit that it would have been a very nice walk in better weather.

We had to leave the warmth and safety of the taxi when the road became too narrow and rocky for the car. The wind rustled the tops of the evergreens and roused awake the sleeping birds hiding within. Set to a background of snow-peaked mountains, it was a rare sight. Especially for a New-Yorker.

"Okay, I think I'm developing frostbite, but that really doesn't matter. This place is amazing!"

Mello said nothing, just smiled.

The path grew thinner and thinner until we were forced to dodge pines and spruces shooting from the dirt. Twice I nearly tripped over the vicious rocks lodged in the ground, and twice Mel caught me.

Finally we came into a huge clearing, where felled trees gathered near the edges. I spotted a small cabin.

"It's seriously a log cabin?!"

He laughed. "No, that's just for storage. Look over there. That's the house."

It was painted quaint creamy white with wooden stripes lining the windows and a brown tiled roof to top it off. I felt the overwhelming urge to take millions of pictures.

"I feel like such a tourist," I mumbled.

Mello had already gone ahead and opened the door. I hurried forward, eager to see the inside.

There was the sound of splintering wood, a few gunshots, and a scream. I came to a stop ten feet from the doorway.

The owner of the picturesque cottage burst from the entrance, then slammed the door. A muffled moan of pain sounded from behind.

"Run," he panted, "for your life. Now. Follow me."

I obliged him, ignoring the sound of twigs being trampled underfoot behind us.