The mill looked extremely lonely when Heath turned around from the door, closed by his visitors. Sighing, he walked over to his desk and flopped down on the chair. It was aching at the back of his head, and his brain was tired from all the complex maneuvers he used for the drug dealers. Heath blankly scanned the bare, wooden desk surface. Instinctively, he pulled over a piece of paper and began vigorously writing.

Most adorable Freddie,

Don't worry, I'll always have a superlative or two for you. Hey, that even rhymes, you know, two and you. Never mind.

I think I can tell you about my job. It's not hard. I'm just a middleman between the drugs and drug dealers, or mob heads, whoever they are. I don't really want to know, as long as they pay. And trust me they pay a lot, if you manipulate them correctly. Damn it, I hate this job.

I heard about Margaret. Do not worry, even if those so called doctors don't know what they're doing, Johnathan does. I know, he's not technically a pediatrician, but everyone start from the same bus.

Good night,

Heath

Heath placed down the pencil and regarded his messy work. He carefully placed it on his letter shelf, before sitting back down. His finger lazily kicked the pencil away. The pencil rolled away a little, then slid back down for another kick. Thunder sounded in the distance, then all of a sudden it began raining. Heath absently listened to the rain patter on the attic boards. He would have to place pots around the mill again, as well as cleaning the attic in the morning. Oh well.

"Heath?"

Heath immediately whirled around in his chair. Winnifred was standing in the doorway, absolutely soaked from head to foot.

"Freddie?" Heath lifted his eyebrows in immense surprise. Winnifred smirked.

"I was walking from the hospital when it started showering. And...well," she flapped her hands on her sides, helplessly glancing on her pitiful appearance.

"Got it," Heath laughed and, quickly looking around, tossed her a random towel that luckily happened to lie on a stool. "Here, dry yourself. I'll see what I can get you to wear." Winnifred nimbly caught the fowl and began brutally rubbing her hair. Leaving her muddy shoes near the door, she stepped with her bare feet on the creaky boards. Heath appeared the moment later, bare chested. His shirt was in his hands.

"Considering that you're pretty short, this should be perfect," he chuckled. Winnifred shot him a grumpy, joking glance and unbuttoned her wet blouse.

"Turn around," she ordered. Heath obediently whirled around on his toes, whistling a happy tune. Winnifred quickly took of her blouse, brassiere and skirt, pulling on Heath's shirt instead. It flopped on her like a dress, reaching up to her ankles.

"You can turn around," Winnifred patted Heath's muscular forearm and went scavenging for a place where she could hang her clothes. Heath meanwhile took out a deck of cards and, sitting on the floor, began shuffling them.

"Poker?"

"Sure," Winnifred appeared again and sat down on the floor with him. Heath smirked and began dealing.

"How's Margaret?" He asked after a while. Winnifred licked her lips, frowning at her cards.

"Getting better. What day is today?"

"Thursday," Heath leaned over the paper and neatly placed two x's in Winnifred's column. Her eyes crossly followed him do that.

"They'll discharge her on Saturday."

"So I have one more day of seeing you walk around like a grouch?" Heath specified. Winnifred smiled and merrily glanced at him. He winked in return. The next round was in silence, but not for long.

"How's Johnathan?" Heath inquired, taking his two tricks like he thought. Winnifred suddenly frowned and lowered her cards, unwittingly revealing them. Heath decided not to look at them, focusing instead of Winnifred's face.

"Heath," Winnifred seriously started, thinking over her words. "Did you know about Johnny's experiments?"

Heath leaned back, trying to guess what would be Freddie's reaction to his answer. He decided to tell the truth.

"I did," he admitted. Winnifred turned to him in indignation.

"And you didn't stop him?" Heath quickly lowered his eyes back on his cards. The jack of hearts gave him a sugary smile. Heath glanced back up at Winnifred.

"No."

"Why not?" Heath loudly exhaled.

"Johnathan likes it. I didn't feel the need to take him away from his toy."

"But what if he goes..." Winnifred didn't finish the sentence.

"Nuts?" Heath helped her. "I don't think so. Johnny's much stronger mentally than you think. Besides, he has his own head on his shoulders, he's perfectly aware of what he's doing."

Winnifred twisted her lips in displeasure, but it seemed that she was too tired to continue. Heath decided to switch the topic.

"So are you coming on Saturday?"

"Of course," Winnifred frowned. "Why wouldn't I?" Heath shrugged, looking back on his cards.

"Well, I thought..."

"I'm coming, okay?" Winnifred harshly answered and threw down her cards, standing up and walking up to the crying window. Heath followed her with his eyes. His gaze transferred on the scattered cards, then back at her. He slowly got up and walked up behind her.

"Freddie, what's wrong?" Heath quietly asked. Winnifred looked down. Heath couldn't see her face, but her vague reflection in the window revealed her ashamed, tired face.

"I-I'm sorry," Winnifred sighed. "I've been feeling so horrible these past few weeks, it's really getting on me..."

"Freddie," Heath softly took her by the shoulder. Winnifred turned back to him. She wearily glanced at him.

"It's not you fault, Heath, truly. But first it was Browning, then Margaret, now Johnathan..." Winnifred suddenly fell silent. Heath watched how horror slowly spreads over her face. The same cold horror spread inside him.

"Freddie," he slowly started. Winnifred refused to meet his eye. "Is that the Browning I am thinking of?" Winnifred was quiet.

"Freddie?" Winnifred glanced at him.

"Yes," she defiantly admitted. "I met him in Maine." Heath took his hand away from her shoulder and turned around, hands in pockets. He wasn't sure what to feel, he honestly didn't feel anything. He just understood that he needed to be alone.

"The rain is less dense," Heath said in a flat voice. "It's the best you'll get right now." Winnifred understood that she was being sent away. Heath heard her sigh behind him, then go somewhere into the depths of the mill. In about three minutes, she returned, dressed in her ordinary clothes. They were still very damp. Winnifred quietly placed his shirt on the back of the chair and nimbly slipped between Heath and the doorway. His brown eyes watched her quickly run under the rain. Once she disappeared, he snatched a piece of paper, the one they've been keeping track of points for poker and, turning it around, began writing all over it:

Dear Freddie,

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry

I'm sorry I'm sorry I

Please I'ms orry I'm sorry Im sorrry I,m sorry I'm sorry

Freddie please

sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry

PLEASE WINNIFRED