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Part 3: "Runaway Houses"

"Please don't get answers from eyes
You know that mine can't lie
Quite as well as yours
Just let the spare moment flow
Rounding steps as I go
Through the open doors

Please don't deflate from a sigh
I'd hold still every time but I'd start to shake
I wander around for days
Wondering what I'll say
When they want the truth

You will never know how hard I try
To keep from waning while waiting at the start
The depth of every touch is real as you need
But words don't do any favours for me." Tame Impala: "Sundown Syndrome"

His wound heals like snow encrusting the ground and freezing it. They're frozen too-cooped up in the old woman's house since the snow is up to the window sills and neither man complains. There was a blizzard when they first arrived and Jimmy was still sleeping Richard told him but it's tapered off and now it's just heavy falling snow. It's still too heavy for them to venture outside and try to trek out on foot.

Richard's boots are drying by the front door shimmering wet, reflecting light, chunks of ice slide off of them and are dissolving into puddles. The fire in the fireplace bounces warm, soft firelight around the small room. Jimmy sits in a chair with a blanket around him and reads: "The Tin Solider". Richard likes it when he reads it out loud. Richard will sit at his feet sometimes curled around his legs, cheek rested on Jimmy's thigh while playing with the hem of Jimmy's trousers, tickling his skin and Jimmy thinks it's sort of perfect.

Zofia, the old Polish woman, cooks them sausage and bakes bread and Richard trudges through deep snow to cut her fire wood, try to hunt or to do other tasks for her for payment for their stay. He speaks to her in broken Polish and Jimmy nearly loses the mug of tea he was drinking. Richard eyes him after Zofia scuttles out of the room.

"I picked up on some words."

"We've only been here for five days."

"Hmph. Has it only been that long?" He looks around the small house like he's seeing it for the first time, his face broken out in a sloppy, knowing grin.

"I guess I just pick up on, hmm, things quickly."

Jimmy finds himself returning the smile as he leans carefully against the archway to the kitchen, mug in his hand, a slow blush on his cheeks. He looks down to the thread bare carpet.

"Like me."

Richard is crowding his space a heartbeat later, all warm heat and musty smells, his half a mouth close to Jimmy's ear.

"Just like you," his breath tickles Jimmy's face and he dusts a knuckle over Jimmy's cheek and then Richard is moving across the great room, long strides taking him across the floor quickly. Jimmy is left trembling slightly though new heat has spread through his body. He can only lean further into the wall to keep from feeling he'll float away.

Zofia cannot hear well and only speaks and understands little English but she seems delighted to be helping out the wandering ministers. She cooks for them and likes to sit and pray the rosary or read the Bible. She sleeps a lot and keeps to herself though Jimmy is surprised at how quick she gets around for being in her seventies. Jimmy can only smile at her behind her back and wonder if his own mother will be like her with her bent over posture, small wisps of white thin hair, wrinkles upon wrinkles and age spots that go on for days.

She was married and had a child at thirteen but one day she will be old and frail and I may have to take care of her just like we took care of the Commodore…like Richard took care of me…

But he doesn't think of his mother. They're in a safe place like Richard had called it, a place that no one can touch, tucked away from enemy's eyes and long ago memories. They're buried in snow like a place that doesn't count but it does to them. They built a house out of sand and glass. People could peer inside or try to come in but they wouldn't see anything because it would dissolve or break at their touch, crumbling to earth and be washed away with the tide.

Jimmy likes to watch Richard pull on his heavy boots, his wool coat and a borrowed hat from Zofia that goes over his ears. Jimmy watches him through the snow encrusted window as Richard trudges through heavy, high snow to the wood pile around the house and splits wood with an axe and his strong arms, breathing labored and sweat beading on his forehead. He watches in shadow as Richard gets too warm from the exertion and loses his coat and hat eventually stripping down to his white undershirt and Jimmy wonders stupidly if it's for his benefit. He smokes and watches Richard swing the axe with the strained muscles of his arms. He watches how they flex and work under his thin shirt that's getting spotted with sweat. He likes how Richard pauses to wipe his brow and push fallen dark hair out of his eye. Jimmy is like a clock wound too tight and someone is playing with his springs. When Richard returns a time later with logs in his dirty arms, his whole body glistening with snow and sweat and his face flushed Jimmy waits but not patiently for Richard to crouch by the fireplace to add more logs to it. Once Richard has deposited the logs and has wiped his hands Jimmy's springs have been sprung and he's on Richard in a flash.

He encircles his arms around Richard's waist pressed in close to his damp clothes. Jimmy can smell the pine and the sodden earth on him. Jimmy lifts and shifts Richard's dripping mask and kisses his cold lips. Richard tries to detangle himself from Jimmy probably worried that Zofia could walk in at any moment and really she could but he stops struggling after a moment and draws Jimmy in closer, cupping his face and returning the needy kiss. The fire from the fireplace warms their skin. Wood crackles and spits in the hearth but Jimmy can only hear the sound their mouths make as Jimmy tries to taste the winter air on Richard's tongue. They are the only two people on earth in the snowy back woods near New York in the warm great room of a stranger's home. This is the way they live now.

Jimmy pads around in bare feet a little later after taking a nap, blanket around his shoulders, fresh bandage on, steaming mug in hand and he hears music filter in through the house. He approaches the great room and it smells of fresh pine. His eyes dart to a freshly chopped small pine tree, snow still melting off of it in the corner of the room. Richard is sitting hunched over at the ancient piano in the other corner of the room and he's playing Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata". Jimmy stands frozen in place. Steam from his mug is wafting in front of him and the piano is slightly out of tune but Richard plays wonderfully and Jimmy's afraid that he'll stop. The song always struck Jimmy as sad but hopeful and it grips him. Pine needles drop to the puddle ridden floor and Zofia is standing against a wall across from Jimmy, eyes closed and he swears he sees tears in her eyes and Jimmy's own eyes go wide. Jimmy closes his eyes and he's eight years old again. His mother and the Commodore hang tinsel from their tree, bright packages under it reflecting firelight. Jimmy lies on the sofa and gazes up to the ceiling, overly anxious for Christmas to come. Christmas is finding its way here too.

Jimmy finds himself shuffling on bare feet over to Richard. Richard is concentrating hard, some hair falling in his eyes, his fingers brushing keys lightly but possessively like his Colt, like Jimmy's knife, like when he fucks Jimmy slowly in their room with snow all around, slow attention to detail like it's the only thing in the world. He stops playing and it's like a jolt of electricity is sent through Jimmy's spine. Richard is meeting his face like it was nothing at all that he just played a seven minute song wonderfully. Zofia comes over to Richard before Jimmy can open his mouth. Zofia kisses Richard's cheeks one by one not even flinching when she kisses his masked side and calls him: "człowieka pół anioł"- "angel half man" Richard translates some time later. Richard blushes a little, cracks his knuckles and shoots Jimmy a look when Zofia shuffles off to the kitchen.

"Play something a little more upbeat. You're making Zofia cry over here," Jimmy lights a cigarette and tries to hide his smile. Richard plays a more uplifting Wagner tune and Jimmy rests his mug down on the coffee table and rests his cheek on the smooth, ancient wood of the piano, cigarette still in his mouth, smoke swirling around Richard's fingers. Jimmy closes his eyes and listens to Richard play. He whirls a finger around a knot in the wood. "This won't last," and he isn't sure if he's talking about the song, them staying with Zofia or their relationship in general-whatever it was. Richard dipped Jimmy into a dark river but Jimmy came out reborn from that darkness. Once they left this place and after they found the mistress and the children they would go back to their old lives and Jimmy would still struggle with who he's supposed to be. Richard just continues to play and maybe he hasn't heard Jimmy or doesn't want to.

Jimmy knows Richard writes things in his moleskine journal. Sometimes Jimmy will read "The Tin Solider" while Richard scribbles furiously in his notebook and Zofia will rock in her chair knitting with her arthritic hands moving slowly in the firelight with the early Christmas tree Richard chopped leaning up in a corner with popcorn tinsel around it that the three of them made. They're all doing their own private thing but they're all sitting close to one another like an intimate family. Snow moves against the dark sky outside the window and it's quiet but warm and Jimmy doesn't want to be anywhere else.

Because he wants to know him even if he can't admit it he waits until Richard has gone outside to shovel to root around in Richard's bag and draw out his moleskine journal.

Jimmy flips to a random page and reads:

"You do not know the passage to the other world. Black lines that stretch outwards like long dead fingers, like ink running in the veins of a heart. You do not know these things. Rocks in shoes and choppy seas, throwing shadows together. You do not know how to get there. Rubbing two bullets together through stained fingers, creating friction, a swishing metallic sound. Metal becomes the man becomes the gun and you do not know. Gone bad in the middle. Soft and delicate veins, tissue and muscle exposed-red, squishy and running together like the insides of a tree with rings that circle time and we forget who we are.

You do not know this passage to me. I come to a point like a boat, like a weapon but I am not something you can ride to shore or something that you can kill with. Line up everything. Count them all. Then come back. Put everything you own in a box and send it down a river. Leave the river and then come back. You do not know this world. High invisible things like towers cloud your eyes and put diamonds there like coins. You're on the outside looking into your inside slicing light with your fingers and you do not come back.

There are moths in your mouth and zippers on your eyes and you do not know. There are curvatures, spindles, knots and snags traveling around every fabric and speck through and through until it becomes the only true thing like tracing a line with your fingers. Leave flesh, leave muscle, skin and bone and keep whittling away like a stick to a point that is not me until it is. Keep shucking and pulling away layers until you come to nothing and then you are me, sharing me. Shoot up straight to the middle and do not pretend. This is the way to the dark passage, to the other world, to me."

Jimmy reads it a few more times, his eyes darting over Richard's clean, neat script, the dark ink and the lined perfect pages. His hands are shaking when he's finished. He flips through the other pages of the journal. It's only half full but it's enough. The writing is dark but beautiful, intelligent, damaged but precise and painstakingly careful-Richard in a nutshell. Jimmy fingers Richard's dog tags that are around his neck absentmindedly. How long will he wear them? How long will they live in this glass world of perfect sin?

It's been eight days and the snow only slows. They're living in a snow globe the three of them. As frightenly content Jimmy is getting and how much stronger he feels as days pass he also feels he's going stir crazy.

Though Richard protests Jimmy insists on coming with Richard early in the morning to try to hunt deer or anything else as Zofia's food supply is running a little low. She had anticipated heavy snow and stocked up but she didn't plan on having two grown men live with her for over a week. It was the least they could do. Richard eventually gives in and Jimmy has to hide some excitement as he pulls on his boots and his coat, tucking his Colt inside his jacket. Richard too looks eager that he's bringing his M17 rifle and his own Colt. They pack up and take what they need in case they come across bigger game.

"Do you think they're alive?" Jimmy chances when they're outside, their footsteps making heavy, deep impressions in the snow. Snow is falling lazily like it might plan to let up completely soon. Sunlight tries to peep in through the graying clouds and patches of the snowy expanse lights up like millions of diamonds. Jimmy's breath catches in his throat as he sees the sight.

"Could be…"

"Do you think we're alive?" Jimmy stops and cranes his neck watching swirling snow fall from an otherworldly place, somewhere sin, creation, and innocence are born. Richard reaches for him suddenly, drawing him into a kiss.

"Yes," he responds after releasing a trembling Jimmy from him. 'Yes, I do." He says it with so much authority that Jimmy almost believes him. They're cut from cloth, black X's for eyes, stitching up the back, stuffed with sawdust in this place but they are real. Richard shares his bed every night and they don't speak of what happens after and they are alive, breathing in the same air and moving around silently in this snowy world.

Jimmy asking if they're alive was the most they had talked about Ms. Britton and the children in quite a while and guilt twists inside Richard like a knife to his guts. They were being selfish and stupid. Snow falls and collects on his eye lid making him blink the powdery flakes out. The heavy snow was preventing them from their mission and he would stand behind this truth if someone asked them. Mr. Thompson and Mrs. Schroeder must be beside themselves with worry and grief. Ms. Britton and the children may be alive but were probably terrified. And what could they do? Richard thought maybe he was kidding himself. He was a soldier and a killer. He was no hero and no rescuer of mistresses and children. Jimmy, in a tender moment after their first time together, had confessed that he didn't really like to kill but Richard did. He did very much and he was very good at it. He liked that Jimmy was bringing out the better in him. Whatever that was.

Living with Zofia in her house was like a prayer answered but also like falling off the path. Jimmy was healing, maybe in more ways than one in this place, opening up to him-his body and his heart but it's just like Jimmy said when he was listening to Richard play the piano-it won't last. They'll go back to Atlantic City either with Ms. Britton and the children or not and then they'll go back to their respective lives. For Richard that was returning to Mrs. Schroeder's house if Mr. Thompson still wants to give him work and for Jimmy that was being a father and even though he wasn't married he had Angela waiting for him. Fresh guilt stabs at Richard as they trek through the heavy snow that sucks at their boots. All of this was keeping Jimmy from his son. Jimmy eyes Richard curiously as they approach the woods, the woods where Richard made camp for the two of them when Jimmy wasn't conscious, his wound still fresh and Zofia came upon them unexpectedly. He almost shot her thinking it was someone sent to kill them. But she was all innocent and warm smiles with her missing, rotting teeth and all hunched over with her heavy coat drawn tight over her frail form. She speaks polish and Richard's head spins from the strange words and the bourbon he drank to keep warm. He found the bottle in the stolen car.

She looks to Richard and then to Jimmy who's lying under a blanket on the bloody, snowy ground. Richard notes the cross she wears and the way she makes the sign of the cross at Jimmy from seeing the blood. She turns to Richard after what Richard thinks was a silent prayer for Jimmy's recovery that she said under her breath. She gestures to the woods around them. "My…my home," she says with a little smile and Richard thinks she means they're on her land which makes Richard a little edgy.

"Ministers," Richard tries after several failed attempts at getting her to understand some made up story. He only lies so that she's not frightened especially with them being on her land. She nods a little and makes a grunt in approval and understanding. He makes a gun with his fingers and mimics animals to represent hunting, pointing to Jimmy to represent him getting shot and she seems to catch Richard's drift. She starts walking away and motions for him to follow and then Richard is the one that doesn't understand. She marches right up to him not showing any signs that she's afraid of his masked appearance saying: "Come". Richard thinks he has no choice as he needs to get Jimmy out of the cold. He packs up and follows her through the falling snow, Jimmy and bags over his shoulders until they come upon what he hopes is her small home which is almost like a cabin set in the middle of nowhere.

He feels mystified once they are inside and the feeling is only intensified as she motions for him to follow her into a bedroom. He lays Jimmy down on the small bed and the woman immediately assesses Jimmy's injury. She scurries out of the room quicker than Richard would have thought possible for a woman her age. She comes back a short time later and doctors Jimmy's injury. Jimmy's eyes are still closed and worry floods through Richard. The woman closes her eyes and Richard sees her lips moving though no sounds come out and he thinks she's praying again. She touches Jimmy's eyelids and smiles at Richard. She points to the window. "Snow," she declares and then she speaks in words Richard doesn't understand. "Sleep," she says after a time, the only word Richard can make out in the mass of others. He nods and tries: "Thank you," which she just smiles at and if she understands him or hears him is a wonder to Richard as she swiftly leaves the room.

It was torture watching Jimmy and not able to do much for him. He can only drink the bottle of stolen bourbon, polish his Colt and watch now heavy, swirling snow cut across the window. He looks through all the things he found from their attackers pockets again, laying them out neatly on the small desk in the room looking at their train ticket stubs from New York to New Jersey. He found a photograph in the wallet of one of the men. It was of a child around the same age of Mrs. Schroeder's son. The photograph had some writing on the back that said: "Samantha. Albany Photography, 1918". He had already phoned Mr. Thompson the night before about the attacker's ambush and the findings confirming their suspicions that the men were from New York which meant they needed to get there too. Mr. Thompson seemed angry but also a little concerned that Jimmy was shot. There was an edge to his voice and he seemed very tired and worn thin-the abduction taking its toll.

"We'll find them," he hears himself telling Mr. Thompson as he throws cautious looks over his shoulders in the telephone booth in the hotel he stopped at leaving Jimmy in the stolen car. Richard doesn't like how some of the patrons are watching him but Richard could just be paranoid. Mr. Thompson sighs heavily into the phone and Richard can see him frowning and rubbing at his eyes.

"I hope for all our sakes that you do. Please keep an eye over Jimmy too. He won't admit it but he's not invincible," and Mr. Thompson hangs up leaving Richard blinking at the receiver, his words swimming inside Richard. "I will," he tells the phone booth quickly going back to an unconscious Jimmy waiting for him in the car.

It's a day spent of waiting for Jimmy to wake up but the old woman insists that Richard sit and eat with her. She sits him down at her small, worn kitchen table and it reminds him a lot of Mrs. Schroeder's. She hands him a bowl and it's a kind of stew that Richard eats ravishingly, hardly tasting it. He didn't know how hungry he was until the food was right in front of him. He was too concerned with trying to keep both him and Jimmy alive. He hears Mr. Thompson's words about keeping an eye on Jimmy and Richard closes his eye and breathes out a long sigh.

Richard feels cold hands on his face and his eye flies open. The old woman is smiling at him, her old weathered eyes crinkling at the corners, her skin so translucent and thin it looks as delicate as paper.

"You good man," and she says in broken English and she utters some other words Richard doesn't understand.

She turns Richard's masked side towards her like she's unabashedly inspecting him like she's a doctor. "Your face…" and she struggles with her words. "Will heal. You do God's work," she smiles like she's very pleased with herself for the statement or for maybe getting the words right. Richard can only stare at her wide eyed and shake his head a little.

"Thank you but no. Hmm. I'm not a good man. God doesn't see people like me. Hmm," he smiles weakly and the old woman stares at him blankly and shoots him a confused look. Richard is glad she didn't understand what he said. "Thank you," he says again and the old woman thankfully removes her icy fingers from Richard's face and nods a little.

"Zofia," she points to herself.

Richard nods. "Richard," and he points to his chest.

"Człowieka pół anioł," and she laughs an endearing, throaty laugh and it's her turn to shake her head. "Angel half man," she whispers as she shuffles off into the kitchen with the snow rattling the small windows. "Angel half man."

When Jimmy wakes the next day Richard is overwhelmed with emotions and needs to be close to him even if it's just once. But Jimmy reciprocates and neither of them are drunk, no alcohol at all for that matter and he wants it and Jimmy wants it, they both need it as Richard makes love to him. Jimmy normally calls the shots but he is content with Richard taking control and Richard doesn't question it. It only makes Richard feel more strongly for him.

Jimmy fiddles with Richard's dog tags around his neck as they trudge through deep snow bringing Richard back to the present. Barren, snarly trees heavily laden with snow in their bare branches are all around them and Richard is reminded of this life they're living now. It's only real to them. They're in suspended motion like throwing a coin down a deep well and having it stop halfway through. It's like the deeper they go the more unknown they'll find. It's scary but beautiful.

The wood is silent. Heaps of snow cover every surface drifting against the trees like precarious slopes and the only sound is their boots crunching under the snow and the slight wind whistling past their ears. Morning light tries to peep in through the heavy clouds making odd patches of light in the wood. Snow falls like salt being shaken from a shaker and light trickles down and filters into the wood and Richard thinks it's very peaceful. There's a certain calm like the world is holding its breath.

He wasn't sure about Jimmy but Richard had hunted before with his Grandfather. Richard visited his Grandfather who lived in upstate New York and he liked to take Richard hunting when Richard was ten or eleven. His Grandfather had a farm and they would get up very early to sit and wait for whitetail deer. His Grandfather had showed him how to track deer, how to look for their tracks in the earth and look at the surroundings like bent branches and leaves. Hunting took a lot of patience as it could be a waiting game. Being in this place reminded Richard a lot of his Grandfather's property.

Although the conditions weren't desirable and the snow is making it hard to track Richard still picks up on subtle hints that deer are in the area. He sees droppings, catches a hoof print every now and again, snapped twigs or freshly brushed snow off fallen logs. Thankfully Jimmy is silent and he lets Richard concentrate. Normally the younger man has issues with being still and he's shown Richard in the past that patience wasn't his virtue but Jimmy is uncharacteristically complacent and only squints or shoots Richard impassive or questioning looks every once in a while. Richard thinks this journey has changed Jimmy but its changed Richard too.

They're moving slowly though they've already walked a good ways from Zofia's house. Richard has been dutifully tracking and he sees that they're approaching a clearing. Richard hasn't used his M17 for hunting bigger game but he figures it's just like hunting people and shouldn't be any different. He'll have to aim for different parts but good aim has always been something that he prides himself on. The clearing and a stream are just in their sights. Richard leads them to some trees and fallen logs for cover. Richard digs them a hole in the snow so that they can sit behind the fallen logs. Jimmy helps him clear the ground. Jimmy blows warmth into his hands and lights a cigarette.

"Now what?"

Richard smiles and brushes snow out of Jimmy's hair and sweeping it back for him.

"Now. Hmm. We wait."

Richard knows from the tracks he's picked up that deer are around but they just need to wait for them to stop at the stream. He watches the silent wood, spies Jimmy shift on the cold ground next to him fiddling with the dog tags and his fedora. He watches him smoke and likes how the gently falling snow lands on his already pale skin like he was meant for a world like this made out of ice and cold. It's a long wait and coldness is seeping into Richard's bones and makes him feel stiff. He waited for the German sniper for three days and he tells himself he can bunk down in the snow for a couple hours. Patience has never been a problem for Richard. The sun that's barely visible has moved across the wood and Richard knows at least another hour has passed. Jimmy is leaning up against Richard snoring softly. Richard smiles and checks their surroundings again. He sees a family of deer approach. Richard swiftly takes off his mask and glasses, sets up his M17 on the fallen log and prepares the shot. This requires more patience as he has to wait for the buck to give him a clear straight down shot. He learned from his Grandfather that it was best to hit the spine or lung or some other vital organ to bring it down quickly. This kind of shot can be very tricky, unforgiving and has practically zero room for error. Richard could, for time sake, aim for the head and be done with it but it's the principal of the thing, his Grandfather's rules coming back to him and Richard is always up for a challenge in terms of aiming and shooting. Richard has to wait for the buck to turn at just the right angle and as he watches the group of deer by the stream for a while he almost anxiously fears that he may not get his clean shot. Thankfully he does and he's ready for him.

"Mam cię[1]," he whispers, not even aware that he's speaking polish like living with Zofia all this time has rubbed off on him and really it had. He had grown to really like her and the odd family unit the three of them had become. He smiles as he takes aim and shoots clear to the buck's spinal column. The shot echoes loudly through the snowy woods and seems to fill it up. The fawn and doe scatter kicking up powdery snow. The buck tries to take a step but crumples to the ground and Richard smiles again. Jimmy stirs awake next to him as he apparently woke to the shot.

"To jest dla ciebie dziadek[2]," he says under his breath and Jimmy throws him a queer look but grins when he peers over the fallen log.

"Fuck," Jimmy says with a sloppy grin on his face. "I missed it," and he throws Richard a warm, appreciative smile that seems to melt some of the ice that's encrusted around Richard's heart and body. Richard almost forgets about the buck and stares at Jimmy, forgetting that he isn't wearing his mask or glasses again. Jimmy always has that affect on him. Jimmy points to Richard's glasses that are resting on the log. "Why do you wear them if you don't even need them?"

"Keeps my mask on. Hungh." Richard dons his mask and glasses quickly; smoothes his damp hair back and tucks his rifle carefully back into its case.

"That's bullshit."

"Probably…"

They share a knowing look. "C'mon. Hmm," Richard gets up on stiff legs and motions with his head for Jimmy to follow. Jimmy gets up carefully, brushing snow off of him and keeping his weight on his good leg. The fallen buck looks strange resting on its side in the fresh snow like it's somehow staining the innocence of the wood. Its tan flank sticks out prominently on the white like it's the only thing they can see. The two men crouch around it and the snow has practically stopped thankfully like Richard had extinguished not only the buck's life but the snow's as well. Jimmy inspects the clean shot and whistles as his gloved fingers circle the bullet hole. "Fuck," he says in wonder and amazement and Richard takes that for as much of a compliment as he can. Jimmy pulls out his knife from his boot, his piercing blue eyes looking eager, dangerous and greedy but Richard puts a hand on his to stop him. "Not now. Hmph. We'll do it when we get back. Help me load it."

Richard had brought an old sheet from Zofia's that he tucked away in his bag. The two men lay the sheet down and with much difficulty on the slippery snow they manage to drag the heavy buck, that's bundled in the sheet, behind them as they trek through the snow as it would be too heavy to carry it for the distance they traveled. Jimmy puffs on a cigarette and they're quiet again as they both are pulling the buck behind them. It's difficult work but Richard feels flutters of pleasure in his stomach at thinking at how Zofia will react at seeing what they're bringing home to her and it makes the trek seem shorter somehow. They follow their footprints back, Richard navigating as Jimmy isn't the best with directions. They're getting closer and Richard is recognizing the landmarks when he hears it. He stops suddenly catching Jimmy off guard and he stumbles to a stop as well. Richard's ears prick up and he can't quite make out the sound. Jimmy shoots him a questioning look though there's hardness in his eyes. They stand stock still and then Richard hears it: the distinct sound of men's voices.

"Shit," Jimmy breathes under his breath obviously hearing it too. They leave the buck and seek cover behind trees, each man standing behind a different one though within sight of each other. They're still a little too far from the house to be able to see where the men are coming from or if they're a true threat but Richard gets a bad feeling in his gut. Jimmy draws his Colt out at the same time Richard does. Jimmy motions with his head to move farther into the wood towards where the voices were coming from and Richard is a little concerned since Jimmy has just recovered from one bullet injury. Richard nods though and moves through the snow as silently as he can as they need to deal with this.

They move slowly, creeping along, hiding behind trees and other things for cover and the voices are getting closer and louder. They're men's voices and as Richard approaches closer he can hear their distinct New York accent. He had grown up there and could pick out the accent anywhere. He grits his teeth and shoots Jimmy a look. He's crouched behind some trees maybe thirty feet away. Richard makes motions at Jimmy and it's like they're back in the war. He motions that they should split up and circle around these men. They would have a better shot if they surround them or at least try to slip past them instead of meeting them head on. Richard picks up at least three different voices and relays that to Jimmy through hand movements. Jimmy nods, all hard, calculating eyes and Richard grins. He likes it when Jimmy looks like this. They part ways both taking a different route and slowly circle around the men's voices that seem to be approaching closer.

Richard hears one of them say something like: "…keep following their tracks…" and that's enough for Richard to know that these men are involved with the same men from New York that have taken Ms. Britton and the children. They're obviously looking for Jimmy and Richard. Richard hopes that Jimmy has heard it too but he can't be sure. Richard approaches a little closer and sets up his rifle quickly. If he can take at least one of these men out then he'll be satisfied. If he's lucky he'll be able to take two and hopefully Jimmy will hear the shots and be able to incapacitate the third. Richard wants to keep one of them alive. He readies his rifle and it's like he's waiting for the buck by the stream again. He doesn't know if this is futile or if they'll walk by in his line of sight but by the way they're approaching it sure sounds like it. It's tricky again as there are a lot of trees and he tries to position his rifle so that trees or branches aren't in the way. It's a challenge but Richard loves the prospect of it. He hears twigs snapping a few seconds later and the voices are close now. Richard thinks the men are rather stupid for sticking together. They should have spread out to search the wood but then again Richard isn't sure if there are more of them scouring the area. He tries to push out his concern for Zofia as he takes off his mask and glasses and readies his rifle. The men are quiet now like maybe they're thinking that staying quiet is a better idea than making a lot of noise and Richard sees them through the scope of his rifle. They're about a couple hundred feet away. There are three of them huddled together in dark coats and hats. They have guns out at the ready and Richard bites back anger and the need bubbling up inside him to try to take all three of them out. The urge to kill is so strong that it envelops him and he feels transported back to the war where he was needed, was regarded as a hero, was somebody once.

He exhales slowly, something that always helps him focus. He takes aim, the usual place as it's hard for him not to aim under the area right below the eye; he has the German sniper to thank for that.

"Mam nadzieję, że Bóg tego nie widzi Zofia[3]," he says under his breath and depresses the trigger, his lips moving like he's saying a prayer just like Zofia, the breath released from his lungs. It's the truest thing imaginable when he feels the kickback of his gun, hears the familiar crack of the shot fired, knows he has aimed true and taken a life like snuffing out a candle. The man in the derby hat falls face first in a heap, a little trickle of neat blood spilling down his snow stained cheek and Richard sees through the scope the shock and terror on his companion's faces, their eyes and heads dart and snap around, their pistols close to their chests. Richard wishes they would stop moving so he can aim and get a better shot. He hears gunfire from another direction and knows it's probably Jimmy. The bullet doesn't connect and the two men stalk off in the direction of where presumably Jimmy is. Richard curses under his breath and although he can't aim for the area right below the men's eyes he can still make a head shot. He aims and fires at the back of one of the men's heads. It connects and the man falls over on his side in a bloody heap. It isn't the way Richard usually takes lives. He likes neat, clean shots without a lot of blood and mess but the situation was dire and they were in a pinch. He packs up quickly and takes off as the third man is now running and is too far away to try to take a shot to stop him. He hears another shot fired and Richard runs in the direction of the noise. Low branches lash at his face and he slips and falls in the heavy snow a couple times but he makes his way.

He pushes through snow burdened trees and bushes and hears voices. He follows the sounds, heavy snow sucking at his boots like quicksand and suddenly he half falls into someone as they back up into him. Richard backs up a couple steps and when the figure turns their head around in Richard's direction Richard sees its Jimmy. Richard releases a breath he didn't know he was holding. Relief washes over Richard when he realizes that Jimmy is not injured. Richard hears a whimpering noise and Jimmy motions with his head for Richard to follow him. They walk a few paces until they come upon one of their pursuers who is kneeling in the snow, back to them with their hands on their head. Jimmy pushes past Richard, digs his Colt in the man's back and gets him to his feet. The man is bleeding from his head, blood dripping in his eyes and he winches when Jimmy digs his gun deeper into his back. The man releases another yelp, his eyes wide with fear and pain.

"You shut the fuck up," Jimmy hisses at him under his breath. "Now move," and he rudely shoves the man. He goes stumbling forward but Jimmy limps up to him and with his gun pointed into his back he leads the man through the snow. "He won't say if there are more of them in the woods," Jimmy's eyes are hardened and he spits into the snow as they make their way back to the house. Richard leads the way and they try to hurry. Richard smells it before he sees it. They're just out of the woods and the air is thick with the smell of burning wood and then Richard runs.

"Richard," Jimmy yells after him but Richard ignores him.

Zofia's house, their sanctuary from the blizzard and the rest of the world is burning. The fire is bad already. Flames are breaking the windows and heavy dark smoke is billowing out staining the sky black. Richard takes off like a shot and Jimmy is shouting from a distance to stop but Richard can't stop. Richard flings his bag to the ground and when he approaches the house he knows right away he cannot enter from the front door. The roof collapses with a sickening crash and the flames make a desperate whooshing sound that sends shivers down Richard's spine and still he stupidly thinks he can enter another way to try to save her.

"Richard!" and there's a strong hand on his shoulder bringing him back.

He's lead back from the burning house and he feels slightly numb but Richard can't keep his gaze off the flames that seem to rise ever upwards. They stop when they're a few hundred feet from the house. Jimmy has the man tightly in his grasp with his gun pointed at him.

"Fuck," Jimmy says under his breath. He starts screaming at their hostage, blaming him for the fire, threatening him, hitting him and kicking him and Richard lets him. It's Jimmy's way of dealing with it but Richard has his own way. He watches the house, their house he was beginning to think of it with the room him and Jimmy shared, the ancient piano that Zofia loved to listen to Richard play, the early Christmas tree that Richard had chopped for her and the popcorn tinsel that the three of them had made to decorate it. He watches it all slowly burn and turn to ash. He imagines it as a funeral pyre and he isn't a praying man but he closes his eye and says his last goodbyes to their host and friend. He's fighting back tears of anger and loss and he can't even mourn her because they have to keep moving if they can keep moving but it's hard for Richard to think through the mounting guilt he feels. Zofia took them into her home, offered them a place to stay and trusted them and Richard had gotten her killed in way of thanks. Richard balls his hands into fists and they start to shake and Jimmy is saying something to him but all Richard can hear is the roaring flames and the crash of debris as the house is being eaten up and is falling apart. They built something here and now everything is gone. Everything is gone.

Jimmy is still speaking and Richard turns his attention to the younger man and his anger is reflected on Jimmy's face. "It's fucking personal now. Hmm." Jimmy's eyes go a little wide, his jaw clenched and his mouth a hard set line. "It's personal now," Richard repeats and he directs his attention to their hostage who's donning fresh cuts and bruises and looking like he may pass out. "I will find them and, hungh, I will hunt down your accomplices if it's the last thing I do. Hmph. I will kill you all for what you did. Hmm." Jimmy's eyes are burning with just as much intensity as the flames and he nods at Richard's threat. "And I'll help you. Someone's going to pay for this," he hands Richard his bag and Richard takes it with a curt nod.

Richard takes one more look at the house which isn't a house anymore but a pile of flaming rubble and debris. He focuses his attention back on Jimmy. "Hmph. Yes and that someone is me." Jimmy's eyes narrow in confusion, a question on his lips but Richard turns from him quickly and starts walking away from flames and smoke, from a life he thought he had built up. He had told Jimmy they were in a safe place, that no one would find them here. Richard was beginning to think that nowhere was safe.

Richard's walking and he isn't sure where he's going he just wants to be away from it. Away from the lies he told and the life he took but thinking they'll be stuck here because the roads are still too covered in snow to try to steal a new car or hitch a ride. But Richard thinks he deserves it like it's his own personal penance or he's caught in his own version of hell where he can't escape the burning, runaway house and dreams. Jimmy is right beside him then still pushing along the battered hostage like Jimmy's sticking to his word about helping Richard and Richard isn't sure why. It was all his fault. They were in this mess because of him. They pass through a clearing and there are several saddled and bridled horses tied to tree branches and Richard knows that's how their pursuers traveled and it's like a tiny miracle amidst the load of disaster. Jimmy hadn't ridden before so Richard helps tie the hostage up with cut pieces of cloth from Jimmy's shirt and Richard helps hoist Jimmy and the hostage up onto the mare. Richard hadn't ridden in a long time but it was like riding a bicycle. He hadn't forgotten. They take off without a word and Richard glances over his shoulder and can still make out smoke trailing up to the sky in thin tendrils. It's something else he hadn't forgotten about and never would.

1 Got You

2 That's (or that is) for you Grandfather.

3 I hope God does not see this Zofia.