It was after eleven by the time Woody trudged up the stairs of his building to his apartment.

After so many weeks going from being laid up in the hospital, to be punished in rehab, to be locked up with in the walls of his apartment, Woody was content with his life of freedom. He was up and out by 6 AM and only returned when he couldn't stay awake any longer.

Tonight was such a night. That restlessness that kept him wired had nothing to do with the amount of caffeine he was consuming. He couldn't put his finger on it, so he just choose to say it was his new lease on life. At least that sounded good when he felt those strange looks from his colleagues on the back of his neck.

One of these nights he knew he's be too tired for the dreams. After the day's stack of mind-numbing work, Woody hoped this would be the night.

But he knew that would be impossible when he reached his door and saw a manila colored padded envelope propped against his door. His heart fell when he realized it was too small for a video tape but picked up again when he noticed the familiar block handwriting and return address from the Kewaunee County Sheriff's Office.

Fumbling with his keys, Woody picked up the package and stumbled in the door, flipping on a light. This had to be it. Confused, he ripped open the package expecting to see a note saying the tape was damaged and Pete was unable to make a copy. What came out was a DVD in a jewel case that looked like it had rode around in the bed of Pete's old truck for a year or two.

Taped to the side was a note that read:

Here's that thing you wanted. The tape was pretty well used up to start with. I dubbed it with my new DVDR dual deck that Sharon got me for Christmas. The next time you are in town you need to come over and see my new system. It's fucking unbelievable. I'm a very lucky man. My wife is not only hot but she loves to watch football on a big screen.

Pete.

Woody let himself smile at Pete's note. Too bad he never saw himself taking Pete up on his offer. The images on that disk were to only thing he had left in Kewaunee. Woody knew once he put this particular ghost to rest Kewaunee County, Wisconsin would be just another place on the map.

Tapping the case on the top of his refrigerator, Woody opened the door to see what was left inside. Outside of a half drank case of longnecks there was nothing but a bottle of ketchup and the petrified remains of a half eaten meatball sub. His stomach growled thinking of the little tubs of home cooking that Lily gifted him with for the first few weeks after his parole from the hospital. He groaned thinking about the way he treated her. The way he's treating everybody. He made a mental note to call her in the morning to give her a long overdue thanks her for her kindness.

tap , tap ,tap

Until then he had more pressing, longer overdue business. Catching sight of the jewel case he shut the refrigerator door. His stomach could wait until later.

Woody powered up his PC. He wasn't sure what he had. Unconsciously he hoped the smaller screen would keep it in perspective. Impersonal. After all, this was just another piece of police evidence. At least that's what he told himself, but he still had a hard time loading the disk in the drive, let alone press play.

He had to pour himself a scotch to get the job done.

The video was grainy. Not unlike every other convenience store feed he's ever seen. He recognized the girl behind the counter. She was a few years ahead of him in high school. He couldn't remember her name and he never saw her again after the funeral. It looked like she was thumbing her way through one of those tabloid magazines; the kind that proclaim the end of the world and welcome alien babies. The door opens and she shoves it under the counter along with the ashtray at her elbow. Woody grins wryly at her innocence. Looking at the timer on the corner of the feed her world was about to be rocked by the very two people that just walked in the door.

Woody was a little taken back by their appearance on the tape. Seventeen years ago those two kids were the closest things to pure evil that he had ever seen. But that was before he put on the badge and looked into the eyes of the very Devil himself more often then a person should have to. Now, on the plasma screen of his laptop they looked like what they were; two strung out strangers just looking for trouble.

Woody watched as they began to engage the clerk. He could almost hear her. Her testimony from the trial echoed through his head.

She asked them if she could help them when the shorter of the two asked for a pack of smokes while the shooter grabbed a six pack out of the cooler. She rang up the purchase even though she knew she should ask for an I.D. Woody stared as the cash drawer opened and the gun was pulled.

Woody took note of the timer, marking the minutes until his father would walk in the door. She never had time to call the police. The Kewaunee County D.A would state that the Sheriff had just gone off duty and was heading home to his motherless children. Fate would have it that he'd stop at the Quik-mart for a gallon of milk. Woody doubted the milk part of the impassioned speech. The odds are his old man stopped to pick of a six pack or two. Woody's eyes are glued to the door. Nothing yet. A flash of light, a shadow or two. Probably the headlights of the patrol car as he pulled in. Did he know? Did he realize what he was walking in to? Woody downed the rest of his drink. The perps knew. The shooter held his gun tightly against his thigh as the door opened.

His face was hidden by his hat. The same Dudley Doright hat that sat on top of his casket. He tipped it back slightly as he asked what was going on.

Woody leaned closer and squinted. Was his weapon unsnapped and ready? Was that the difference between taking a bullet and taking care of the situation?

"You son of a bitch," Woody growled at the screen. "They're armed damn-it. It's not time to play Officer Friendly. Take them out! Now! What are you doing! DON'T...DON'T TURN AROUND! WATCH OUT! TAKE THEM...

...out."

It was over in a flash...almost anticlimactically in shades of gritty grey. Woody watched in shock as the hat toppled off his head as he slid slowly to the floor, his legs refusing to give chase, a quickly growing dark grey stain growing across his back. He noted the time because it was a matter of record: The moment the call came across the police radio, 'officer down, request back up'... The last words Woody's father would ever speak.

"Officer down, request back up!" His voice snapped like bullets in the empty room. "You were dieing Pop! Christ, you could have said something like 'tell the boys I'm proud of them. Tell them I love them'"

"... then again," he snorted, "We never heard you say it before."

Woody slammed the lid of the laptop down and began to pace. "You God damn fool."

That little voice inside his head asked "Which fool?"

He chose to ignore the deep feminine quality of the voice. Jordan was someone he didn't need to think about right now.

"Just shut up," he said hoarsely.