Part 6

The days froze over, blurring as one, two, three days passed in snowfall. Ice gathered on the windowsills so that the daylight, already weak, turned gray and pale. Faint radio signals drifted in and out, their only link to the outside world, and they kept it tuned on the strongest station, a local public broadcast that alternated between news, classical music and old mystery shows. No one listened, but its rise and fall of distant voices filled an otherwise quiet house.

Breakfast, lunch and dinner broke up the monotony, and each time Donatello cracked open a can or package, he thanked their luck that Leonardo had insisted on their full haul from the shop. They could last a few weeks on what they'd taken and, even after his brothers had burned through half the medicine they'd lifted, Donatello still didn't feel like he needed to ration their pain killers or pills.

Static scratched and faded as the radio found the signal again. "-the storm has claimed three more lives, with the hardest hit in the northern counties as local roads are nearly completely impassable. The Red Cross is currently organizing relief efforts but authorities caution drivers to remain off the roads and phone paramedics in the case of emergencies."

As if to punctuate the radio broadcast, a lonely police siren wailed in the distance, inching closer as the cruiser crept along the road. Even at its slow speed, its rear wheels skidded on the ice patches and brought the wheels drifting close to the edge. Donatello pulled back the kitchen curtain, watching the cruiser slip off the road and crunch on the gravel, finally finding traction and getting back on the road.

"Tempting fate?" Raphael said, leaning past him and tugging the curtain closed again.

"No one's looking at us," Donatello said. "They're too busy trying not to spin out."

"Yeah, lousy view anyway." Raphael turned his back to the window, leaning on the counter and then leaning sideways against Donatello, yawning as he lay his head on his brother's shoulder. "It ain't even stopped snowing yet."

"Not for another day or two," Donatello said, grunting under Raphael's weight and shoving his shoulder back. "Y'know, it's hard to make lunch when you're on top of me."

"Deal with it," Raphael muttered, hardly budging. "All this 'doing nothing' is making me dead tired."

"So listen to the radio."

"That's lame."

"Make a snowman."

"Funny."

"Read something."

"As if." Raphael snorted. "All we got are what Leo found upstairs, and those're boring as hell."

"I can't believe we didn't bring any games or...geez, anything." Donatello sighed as he sliced up apples, preparing to add them to a small pile of sandwiches. "It wouldn't be so bad if I could get a damn wifi signal."

"Pretty sure no one's getting a signal nearby," Raphael said. "You don't have any games on your laptop, huh?"

Donatello shrugged hard, trying to nudge his brother off. "Sorry-chucked 'em out with the bloatware."

"Whatever that is," Raphael said. Yawning hard, he stood straight and glanced over his shoulder, watching the snow fall. "...hey. When the snow stops, how long do you figure we'll stay here?"

Donatello paused, biting his lip. Slowly he started on the apples again. "I dunno. Would we be going somewhere else, or...?"

"No clue." Raphael took a long breath, holding it, then exhaled. "I asked Mikey, but he don't know what he wants to do."

"And Leo?"

"Ain't asked him yet, but I don't think he knows, either." Raphael shrugged. "To be honest, I think he's waiting on us."

"To make up our minds?"

"Hell if I know." He sighed and swiped two sandwiches away from Donatello, ignoring his squawk and how he rushed the apples onto the plate haphazardly. "I'll take Leo's plate up to him, see if he's thought any further ahead than 'oh no, ghosts-run'."

"...why should he?" Donatello took the last sandwich and the bowl of soup meant for Michelangelo, walking out with his brother. "No one else did."

"But how come?" Hesitating at the door, Raphael glanced at his brother. "We've fought spooky shit before. How come this time we ran?"

"Y'know, I got other things to worry about." Donatello tilted his head at the window. "I need to keep the pipes from freezing, keep the water heater going, and check on the wiring. That's what I'm going to think about."

"Don-" Raphael whined, turning so he could give him a dry look. "Don't do this."

"There's a blizzard outside," Donatello said, not caring that he was snapping. "You can focus on ghosts if you want."

Donatello pushed by him, letting the door fall back on Raphael's foot before he could move out of the way.

While Raphael grumbled and slid out of the kitchen, Donatello knelt down next to Michelangelo. Their little brother hadn't moved from the futon except to take a shower, then crawling back into the blankets like a bear in hibernation. And he growled like one as Donatello set the meal down and nudged the lump in the middle of the pile of bedding.

"Not in the mood to beg you to eat," Donatello warned him. "You wanna keep getting better? Eat it while it's still hot. It'll just hurt more going down cold."

With an indistinct noise somewhere under the blankets, Michelangelo shifted and turned. The side of the blanket lifted, revealing a flashlight and a notebook, and then a hand slipped out, grabbed the edge of the plate and pulled the whole dish under the covers. This, followed by a more recognizable murmur.

"You're welcome," Donatello said, patting Michelangelo's shell through the cloth as he stood.

He brought his own lunch with him along with his tools, heading upstairs to the bathroom. With all the snow piling up, he had to make sure the plumbing wasn't one step away from failure, and as usual, he'd be working with a sandwich in one hand and a screwdriver in the other.

Donatello opened the sink, pulling out the dusty bucket and spare parts that he didn't recognize. Then he lay down on his shell and eased in, flashlight held in his mouth as he looked up at the pipes. As expected, the rubber gaskets looked old and close to cracking apart, and if this was what the sink looked like, he'd be taking the bath faucets apart, too.

The stairs creaked with Raphael's telltale weight. With the floorboards so old, even ninja had a hard time walking quietly and usually didn't even try. Just another reason not to sleep upstairs, nevermind how the wind blew much louder against the windows up here. The second floor was just a large room with a bath and access to the attic, and the wide space allowed for a distinct moan across the glass, the persistent tapping of snow at the sill.

In the other room, the conversation began in quiet tones, and Donatello caught fragments of it as he worked. Wrenching the PVC bend free, he began loosening the lock nuts and setting everything aside in the bowl. With such a mindless task, listening to his brothers gave him something to focus on.

"Yo! Leo, chow time." A pause. "Or are you lost on the astroplane highway?"

"Astral plane," Leonardo corrected. "But no, just meditating again."

"More spooky shit?"

"...offering candles and light, yeah."

"More spooky shit."

A clatter as Raphael set the plates down, both of them audibly eating on the floor.

"-so how long we staying this time?" Raphael asked. "And where we going after?"

Donatello paused, listening intently. His older brother tended to speak a little softer than Raphael. Donatello gave a token turn of his wrench in case they noticed he'd stopped.

"I don't know," Leonardo said. "Not yet...I know we can't stay here forever, but it feels like-like when you get hit really hard and it puts you on the ground. You have to take a minute to catch yourself."

"And we're catching ourselves?" Raphael huffed. "I don't get it. I asked Donny, but he ain't talking. Mikey can't talk. So I'm asking you. What's the deal? Why'd we run?"

A long pause. Donatello's hand began to cramp but he didn't move.

"I think..." Leonardo sighed. "Look, I'm not completely sure-it's just a thought..."

Raphael didn't say anything but he did sigh loudly. Donatello was sure his biggest brother was turning his finger in the air to signal Leonardo to hurry it up.

"We're on our own." Despite his protest, Leonardo didn't sound unsure at all. He said it matter of factly, as if it were the steps to a kata. "Master Splinter isn't here to help us or say it's okay."

"That can't-" Raphael started to scoff.

"Do you want to go back there?" Leonardo demanded. "Where the lights turn off and you're not alone in an empty room? Where the emptiness itself was grabbing you?"

"...shit, Leo. That..."

"No one wants to go back because he's gone. It wasn't the ghosts." Leonardo coughed, sounding like he'd caught a little of Michelangelo's cold. "Or maybe it was the wrong ghost."

"Whoa...that kinda-"

"It isn't fair," Leonardo muttered. "All those spirits, but he can't be bothered to show up for five minutes?"

"Don't think ghosts work like that," Raphael said. A pause. "You're saying it's the emptiness. Not the ghosts."

"Admit it, Raph. If he was there and said that it was okay, that the lair was clear and safe, then we could all go back without any problems. But Splinter wasn't there."

Donatello put his wrench down, shoved his tools out of the way and got up and left the bathroom. Not caring about the noise or how his brothers must have been looking, he thudded down the stairs, through the living room toward the kitchen.

"Gotta check the pipes in back," he called out to Michelangelo, not caring if he heard.

Opening the door brought a blast of frost that sucked his breath out, but he steeled himself and went anyway. Snow crunched underfoot and light flakes landed on his face, melting down along his collar. How long did he have before he'd be forced to go back in? He wasn't as big as Raphael. Maybe twenty minutes, longer if he found some shelter from the wind.

Instead of lingering at the back of the house, he walked along the trees toward the barn. During the summer, the distance wasn't so great on foot, but with snowdrifts blown against his legs, he felt each stinging step. Again, he spotted deer tracks in the fresh snow, going from the trees to across the road.

At least the barn blocked some of the wind. He threw the latch on the door and went in, closing it only partway. There was a rustle of feathers in the rafters above, something scurrying against the wall, but the owls and mice stayed out of sight as he went into one of the old horse stalls, leaned against the wood post and sank down. His face burning had nothing to do with the biting cold.

Splinter was gone. How clear it was now that Leonardo had said it. Splinter had filled up any abandoned space with his presence, his authority and warmth turning their various hidey-holes into homes. Donatello had repaired lights, Michelangelo had brought decorations, Leonardo and Raphael did the heavy work of clearing out cluttered spaces...

Like the cluttered mess of old filtration meshes in a rusted water treatment plant. Splinter had only been there a little while before age had caught up to him. Not nearly enough time to cement his presence. Donatello hardly had any memories of him there.

No wonder they couldn't go back. The four them making a home under Splinter's supervision felt like a family, safe and guarded. The four of them making a home on their own felt haphazard, makeshift. Vulnerable.

They'd fought worse, but never without their father's presence behind them.

And having it said so starkly made him feel sick to his stomach. Like he'd lost Splinter all over again.

Long minutes passed. His nausea settled and he felt the burning sensation on his face fade. The barn door knocked against the frame, blown in the wind, and Donatello looked to the left, a little surprised that no one had followed him. Raphael might be willing to give him some space, but Leonardo could be a mother hen, trying to peck them back into their roosts.

Taking a long breath, steadying himself against the wood post, he got back to his feet and looked around. The barn was darker than he remembered, probably because he only came inside during clear days with the door flung wide open. Now only a little grey gloom filtered through the slits in the roof, lines of light showing the dust hovering in the air and nothing more. When something skittered in a far corner, Donatello saw only a hint of the walls and floorboards.

Too much like home-like the place they'd run from, he corrected himself. Time to go back.

Grimacing, he put his arms around himself and looked around completely, holding his breath as he listened. How could the wind sound silent? Swallowing, he slid as quietly as he could toward the door, taking little comfort in how the owls didn't stir from their nest. Animals would react around the paranormal, right?

No ghosts, he told himself. There are no ghosts here.

He was walking swiftly toward the door, increasing his speed the closer he got until he was almost running by the time he slipped out, grabbed the door and threw it shut. He almost broke the latch locking it down again.

With the renewed force of the wind, he felt how hard he was breathing. His brothers would tease him if they saw him. "Not so logical now, huh, egg-head?" But maybe they wouldn't, not with what Leonardo had said. Guess he wasn't dealing with everything as well as he thought he was. No. None of them were.

Still nursing a hollow ache in his chest, he headed back across the snow. Head down, he followed his own footsteps, a little fainter now as the snow fell.

And stopped.

A mass of deer prints-deep, plunging points in the snow-surrounded another set of footprints, like his own but larger. The snow furrowed and scraped away from the ground, revealing the black earth, and then a long indentation in the snow, a long drag from the snow into the trees.

He knelt and put his hand on the marks. What he'd mistaken for black earth was blood, thick and half-frozen, punctuated by the sai thrust hilt deep into the hard ground.

TBC...