Toris struggled to stay awake, his feet nearly bleeding from the blisters forming on his feet from the damp socks he had been wearing. The snow had seeped in during the little incident in the woods, but now he was resting against a tree, his chest heaving greatly. His eyes were half-lidded, focused on nothing in particular, the trees before him becoming blurry lines. A few moments passed as he tried his best to catch his breath, his ribs burning from the lack of oxygen. The moon had been nearly directly above him when he stopped to rest… The clock had probably already stuck midnight in the long hallways back in Ivan's house. Toris winced, feeling an internal organ constrict. He had been running non-stop for nearly two hours, and now he was starting to feel it.
The pain had started to get worse only a few moments later, nearly to the point of tears. His eyes began to tear up, a small yelp of pain escaping him, his hands placed tightly over his side as he fell to the other side into the snow beside the tree. He couldn't explain the pain, but he could feel it good enough to know it might have not been 'just a cramp' as Eduard would have put it. Eduard… He hadn't found him yet. Toris' eyes shot open as he had the realization that he was still nowhere near finding him. He clawed at the ground in order to find a way to stand, then held onto the trees in his path, stumbling weakly towards the direction he was sure Ivan was heading.
However, once he made it to the next hill, he found his vision becoming far more blurry, trees beginning to split into two images and spin. He looked down, now sure that his feet were bleeding; small rims of red lining his footprints in the snow. Looking down probably wasn't the best idea, seeing as he began to fall forward. He was too weak to catch himself, so he let himself fall. On his way down, he managed to catch a glimpse of something standing in front of him… A woman in a dark dress. However, he saw nothing of her face except for a pair of dark, menacing eyes, and the glint of a knife.
Ivan crept along the side of the house, staring down at the now snow-covered footprints that lead out of the back yard and into the woods, making note that the wind must have been strong or blowing for a fair amount of time for the footprints that were fairly deep to have been half covered in snow. However, it didn't quite make sense to him as to why Toris took the machete… Sure it would have been useful to use in case of such things that had happened earlier, but now that he thought about it, even with the large blade, he wouldn't have been able to inflict that much damage on anyone else. He was actually quite lucky that the Russian had been blinded by his scarf in those few quick seconds. Though, the way the Lithuanian had swung the blade was quite amusing; somewhat like that of a madman, though it seemed slightly hesitant, as it should be. Although, towards the end of the fight, the way he was holding the base of the blade had confused him. It was almost as though he had expected to be slain, though wanted to push on throughout the last battle.
The Russian grinned slightly, stopping in front of the door and leaning against the pillar that held up the slight overhang on the roof, placing the pipe against the wall of the house that stood beside him. Ivan breathed into his hands and rubbed them together, able to see his hot breath escape through the small grooves between his fingers, swirls forming in the air underneath the pale-orange porch light that shone dully over the wooden planks of the porch and spread to the sides which were covered in a thick layer of moonlit snow. He adjusted his scarf, pulling one end that hung straight down back over his shoulder, and brushed at the bottom of his overcoat where small specks of dirt and mud littered the lining. Looking up, he peeked in through the oval glass that set in the door as somewhat of a small window, seeing that the lights inside the house were indeed still on… Of course they would be, it was Toris' job to get the house ready for nightfall—though he wasn't there tonight.
Ivan turned the knob of the door with a harsh twist of his wrist (it would tend to stick fairly often) and leaned on the door, pushing it open with a loud squeak from the hinges. The house was silent, a faint sound of a record scratching on its last note was heard in the other room, the phonograph's lid open and the arm sliding back and forth on the slick surface. The blonde walked over and picked the bouncing arm up, set it back into place on the holder, and silently closed the lid. His steps were loud, the floorboards creaking, and a deep thump from his boots floated through the rooms of the lower part of the house. He made his way to the stairs and stopped just in front of them, looking down and to the side to see the picture on the table now lying flat, face down. Gently, he reached over and set the picture back up, seeing that now the smeared mark on the glass was almost covered again. Using the side of his glove, he lightly wiped away the dust and smiled weakly, then turned back to the stairs and proceeded to walk up, dragging his hand along the wooden bars placed evenly along to provide sturdiness in the railing.
As he reached the top stair, he looked down the hallway, noticing that none of the lights had been left on, only a faint blue glow shining out from under Eduard's door, his computers had been left on. Ivan strode heavily but slowly down the hallway, stopping at Raivis' door and leaning in to listen, placing his ear lightly against the wooden door. He heard nothing, not a sound. Arching his eyebrow, he softly turned the knob and peeked in. Nothing. The bed wasn't made, nor were the lights or small radio turned on. Now, Ivan was confused. Usually, the small boy was hiding away in his room or in the living room reading. Blinking, he scratched his head and let out a childish sigh, his voice seeming nearly higher than usual. "Ah, I wonder where little Raivis could be? I was wanting to give him something… Something Toris nor Eduard would like."
A pause. Still nothing. He let out a small laugh, then proceeded to walk out of the room and check all of the others, seeing nothing in any of them. Ivan practically skipped up the next set of stairs and ended up in the third-story hallway. This part of the house was hardly ever used after what had happened a few years prior, and because of that, Ivan desperately avoided this part of the house. He checked all the rooms once again, and began to head back down the stairs, only then realizing there was one room left on the third floor. Blinking, he stood back up and headed to the door at the end of the hallway, the door that never truly stayed shut… Ivan lightly pushed the door open and peered inside, his eyes widening. A small figure was lying on the cot face down, his arm hanging limply over the edge of the fabric-coated metal frame, a book lying wide open on the ground some inches away, and lying in the book was a strip of fabric—the match to the previous one Toris had brought down that morning. It had been damp, as if to wipe away tears. If Ivan's hypothesis was correct, things did not look good.