April 17th, 1865

Late morning, early afternoon

Somewhere in South Maryland

Margaret stood after she examined the trail before her.

It had only been four days since the assassination of President Lincoln and even out in the sticks, the woman could feel the cloud of mourning that had fallen over the country.

But she didn't have the time or the ability to mourn herself, not while she led the biggest manhunt in the history.

With the United States Calvary right behind her, following the clues that she left them, Margaret had her hands full. She rubbed her eyes and yawned heavily. She had hardly slept, the task of hunting down the traitor being too exhausting. She needed to be right behind these sons of bitches before the trail went cold and that left little time to sleep.

After another confirmation, Margaret tied off a dark blue stripe of cloth to the nearby tree. The Union soldiers would follow her path. Margaret smoothly mounted her horse, turning the reins and following the tracks with as much speed as she dared. There were two sets of tracks, which made Margaret figured that John wasn't alone. Either a co-conspirator or a hostage that he took that no one knew of.

It didn't matter to Margaret at the moment. John was her target. Anything else was pointless.

After riding for most of the night and through the morning, Margaret was thankful for the house that came into view. However, when she glanced down and saw the hoof prints, Margaret went on alert immediately. She stopped her horse when a man came out carrying a shotgun. He was a fit man but was balding on top and had a bushy mustache.

"That's far enough, ma'am." He ordered. "State your business."

"I just need a cup of coffee and I'll be on my way." Margaret carefully held out a wad of bills. "I'll even compensate you."

She watched as the man glare at her with suspicion. "Sorry, miss, but I'm afraid I'm all out of coffee."

"Will you at least let me use your bathroom to freshen up? I'm meeting a friend in Bryantown and I've been riding all morning."

The man hesitated for a moment but eventually lowered his weapon. "Come on in."

She dismounted and, after tying her horse to a tree, followed the man. His home was neat but sparsely decorated. Margaret winced at the sight of bloodied sheets that were unskillfully hidden. The woman watched the man with an extra layer of suspicion.

"Bathroom is right down the hall." The man directed her.

"I won't be long." Her footsteps echoed through the empty hallways. When she entered the bathroom, Margaret closed and locked the door behind her. Her heart was racing a thousand miles a minute.

She had to think of a plan.

Booth was definitely here. This man helped him in some way, though she didn't know how.

Her eyes caught something in the sink, and her heart sank upon realizing that it was blood. Margaret leaned forward to examined it, realizing that the blood wasn't that old, maybe a couple of days. The woman glanced towards the door, listening to how the house settled. The man was walking around, stopping somewhere on the other side of the house.

Feeling a sense of calm settle over her, Margaret flushed the toilet and turned on the sink. She watched the blood wash down the drain. After turning it off, Margaret stepped out of the bathroom. The woman forced a smile on her face when she came face to face with the man after turning a corner. Thankfully, he put away the gun but that didn't make him look any less threatening.

"I really appreciate you letting me use your facilities, Mr.…...?"

"Mudd. Doctor Mudd. And you're very welcome."

She walked by him, stopping once she was about three steps away, pretending that she suddenly thought of something. "By the way, I'm looking for man. I was wondering if he came through here."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He goes by the name of John Wilkes Booth." Her eyes glanced towards Dr. Mudd, catching only the barest of worry from the furrowing of his brow. "You know him?"

"I, uh…. I-I." he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that I don't know that name."

Margaret did a roundhouse kick to the man's chest, knocking him back. The wood splintered where he impacted in the wall. He remained conscious but his eyes clouded over with pain. Margaret put her boot to his chest, keeping him in his place.

"Where. Is. He?"

"I don't know! I-I sw-swear!"

"It's amazing that I don't believe you." She picked him up by the collar and slammed him against another wall. He looked surprised that a woman as frail looking as her could hold him up like this. "Tell me where he went and who he is with or so help me God, I'll nail you to this wall with my dagger."

She slammed said weapon next to his ear to emphasis how serious she was. The man stammered for a moment, and Margaret couldn't help but noticing with no small amount of sadistic glee that the man's pants had an ever-growing wet spot.

Finally, he managed to get some words out between his sobbing. "Okay. Okay! I'll tell you! They came here a couple days ago! Booth asked me to patch him up, he'd broken his leg. Said that he got thrown from his horse. I did it and he paid me! I swear that I didn't know about him murdering the President until I heard about it later! Then I kicked them out! I SWEAR!"

"Who else was with him?"

"I…. I don't know." Margaret pressed the blade against his throat. "I swear it! I don't know who he was! I think I heard Booth call him David! I didn't catch his last name."

"Where was he heading?"

"I don't know. I kicked him and his friend out when I heard what they'd done." He had stopped blabbering like a child when she had stopped acting like she was about to kill him. "Please. Don't kill me! I'm innocent, I swear!"

The man dissolved into a crying fit, falling to his knees when Margaret let go of his collar. The Assassin watched on with disgust. She kicked the man off her leg and made her way towards the door. However, she lingered.

"I suggest that you stay put." the woman ordered coldly. "The Union Army is right behind me. If I get word that you've fled, I will hunt you down and I will not be so merciful then."

She left the house, leaving the man behind. Taking out and tying the blue cloth to the pillar of the porch, and leaving it flapping in the wind, Margaret remounted her horse and charged off towards the Potomac.

John would've been able to disappear if he went deeper into the South if the War was still on-going. But it wasn't.

The South, as tired of the fighting and the death as the North was, would not hesitate to give him up when the Union would come knocking.

His beloved Confederacy had fallen, burned to the ground because of a few men's greed. He wouldn't be protected.

John's days were numbered.