Richard, who was sweating profusely, wrenched his suitcase open, dumping its contents on the floor, and splaying it open on his bed. Aptly, he ran to the open doors of his closet, grabbing clothes by the armful and shoving them haphazardly into the suitcase. A few moments passed as he tried to flatten them to fit more and a chilling breeze through his window ran a shiver up his spine. His strained gaze darted to the window and he ran to quickly go shut it. Window closed and securely locked, he stepped away and breathed a sigh of relief.

The hell was this? He was being paranoid. He had no reason to worry. Sure, Allen hadn't made it to the bus station, but that wasn't his problem anymore. For all he knew, he was in the clear. Hell, he was in the clear. So why was he so damn anxious to get out of there?

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, straightening his posture. There. He was relaxed. And out of danger. In his own home. He was fine.

A floorboard creaked out in the hallway.

He spun on a dime, looking out into the dark conduit of the hall. It was, as far as he could tell, empty. But his breath quickened nonetheless, heart pounding in his ears. Slowly, he stepped out, looking about adamantly. All was quiet and still.

Paranoia, he told himself. All paranoia. It was in his head. He was losing his mind… like Allen was. That's why he'd disappeared.

He glanced toward the painting on the wall above a lamp table. It hung just slightly crooked, making it seem as though the fair lady portrayed was tilting her head. Placidly, he straightened it, not giving it a second thought before moving on.

He walked to the kitchen where he'd left the lights on, going straight to the fridge for a beer. Working the cap off as he walked to the living room, he took a hefty drink and kicked his shoes off just before the hardwood of the dining room floor turned into the soft carpet of the living room. He slumped down in his chair, fishing for the TV remote. Taking another drink, he loosened his tie and his belt, and kicked his feet up.

The television flicked on and he immediately began to switch through the channels, stopping every so often to watch a program and determine if it was worth keeping on or not. Finally, he settled on a cheesy sitcom that otherwise would have bored him but he decided it was a good enough show to fall asleep to as any. He let the remote fall off the armrest of the chair and onto the floor, bringing his bottle to his lips. However, as he did, he noticed a small flicker of static on the TV.

Brow furrowed, he slowly lowered his bottle, finding that the TV had returned to normal. He heard a gust of wind outside and there was another creak from the house, which very well could have been caused by the wind but he was growing skeptical. He sent a quick glance up to the crucifix hanging on the wall. Turning back to his TV, he watched the program, trying to stay settled in his chair but something was making him increasingly uncomfortable. It didn't help that an odd image seemed to be burned into the TV now, the outline of a man wearing a hat. In any other case, he would have ruled it out as needing a new TV but as the image grew darker and clearer, he knew something was definitely wrong.

The television screen began to flicker and show static until Richard, effectively spooked, bolted from his chair. The television set shook and sparked until, finally, it fell onto the floor and broke. The crucifix on the wall was now swinging, having fallen into an upside-down position. But that wasn't all. As he backed his way back to the kitchen, he noticed that the whole house seemed to be shaking. Shelves shuddered, windows vibrated. The walls felt like they were closing in around him. His heart pounded in his chest. Finally reaching the kitchen, he went for a knife, however, found that the block was empty, all of the knives having stuck themselves in the floor or the opposite wall.

Just then, there was a deafening sound as every single one of his cupboard doors opened and dishes and glassware spilled out, crashing to the floor. His stove clicked on and he quickly ran to turn it off before the room filled with gas.

"Hello, old friend."

He spun again, to where he thought the voice had come from, however, there was no one there. "I know it's you, you rat bastard. Come out and let me see you."

There was no answer.

He continued to move backward, back to the hallway. The lights of the house began to flicker and a ghastly laugh echoed in his ears. He found himself backing into the lamp table, hitting the portrait of the lady that hung above. He reached a hand up to make sure it hadn't come loose from the wall, however, his hand came away sticky and wet. In the crude lighting, he found it to be a thick, dark liquid. He quickly turned, once again, staring at the painting of the lady who now wept blood.

He felt a scream be ripped from him, though he didn't hear it. He felt as though his throat was closing. Choking and burning. A shadow crossed through the light from the kitchen, growing long and approaching him. He heard another creak from the floorboards and a figure emerged. One that he recognized.

Trying to appear placid, he quickly straightened himself, folding his hands in front of him. "Fancy seein' you here, Mr. Carl Perkins."

The image of the man in front of him grew clearer and he could make out the snide grin peeking out from beneath the brim of his hat.

"Is that the name you're usin' now? I thought it was Clayton Jennings. But, y'know, I was always partial to Milo."

The man looked up at him, and Richard could tell he'd grazed a nerve. But he was still smiling. Like the fool he was. The worst part, he supposed, was that he didn't know what to expect.

"You'll be wise not to utter that name or I'll make you swallow your teeth," Clayton said airily, as if it weren't a threat, he was just making conversation.

Richard looked at him warily, hands moving to the lamp table as he flattened against it. "You gonna kill me?"

Clayton sneered and chuckled. "Oh, I'm gonna do much more than that, cher."

"Mais, you sure hold one hell of a grudge, don't you."

There was a sudden crash! in the house and it was soon much darker than it had been before. Richard had to strain his eyes to see, struggling to relocate Clayton's form. He found him quickly enough though, shadow growing too long for his body as a ghastly red glow crept up the wood-paneled walls of his home. For a moment, he could have sworn that the man's shadow had horns, though, knew very well that the darkness could be playing tricks on him.

The little man moved closer and Richard, effectively trapped, was now practically sitting upon the lamp table.

Clayton wasn't smiling anymore. "The things you done are unforgivable. You broke my very bein' and reduced me to this miserable thing."

"Mais, you did that to yourself, then tried to blame me 'cause of what I did. A man can change, y'know."

"You took everythin' from me. And you ain't changed. Not one bit."

"You want an apology?"

"An apology is the last thing I need from you."

Then, just like that, the light was gone. Richard found himself in total darkness. And, inevitably, completely disoriented. He could still feel the edge of the lamp table behind him, but everything else was a mere guess and the curious creaks the house was making were increasingly unsettling. And there was a pain. One that started in his back, between his shoulder blades, and worked its way through him, as if he were being impaled. It constricted his lungs, made it hard to breathe. He found himself clawing at his chest, at the invisible perpetrator.

"What the hell do you want with me?"

"All I ask is that you accept your punishment for what it is."

He looked up, but there was nothing to see. Too dark. Not enough air. Too much pain.

He let go of the lamp table and sank, feeling the floor cold and hard beneath him. He realized how pathetic it must be for him to be cowering on the floor instead of being a man and defending his house, but a part of him that knew what he deserved kept him there. That, and the immobilizing pain in his chest. He was beginning to doubt what the man had said about killing him, however, he knew better. Clayton Jennings wasn't often a liar. That much he knew.

Begging for mercy seemed almost out of the question. But he didn't see much other choice in the matter. Maybe he could go quick and painless if he started to grovel. And maybe if he died, that vengeful spirit could finally be put to rest.

There was an abrupt scream wrenched from Marie preceded by a sharp crack! The woman groaned and twisted her shoulder, holding it with her other hand.

"Autumn, that hurt," she complained.

Autumn scoffed. "I told you it would, and you wouldn't listen to me. You dislocated your shoulder, Marie, and I ain't no doctor."

Marie rotated her shoulder and straightened her posture. "Thanks anyway."

The two of them looked up as Daisy appeared, dropping a water bucket beside them and running a hand over her face. "All right, now that place is spotless and I mean spotless. So don't anybody go near there."

"Not too spotless though, right Daisy?" Autumn asked.

"As much as it pained me, I left a few cobwebs and mouse droppin's." She sat down beside the two of them and worked her heels off, slumping against Autumn.

Autumn put an arm around her. "I think there's a valuable lesson to be learned here, girls."

Marie and Daisy looked up. "What's that?" Marie asked.

"When men say they're gonna do somethin', you best bet we're gonna be the ones cleanin' it up."

The other two gave a concurring nod. "Uh-huh."

Just down the bank crackled a fire, three standing around it. They each simultaneously raised cans of beer to their lips as the fire consumed whatever it could within the short span of its life.

"Should we say somethin'?" General asked.

"No," Bo replied quickly.

Luke, or rather, the Being, shook his head.

General took another drink of his beer, watching the charred remnants slowly crumble under the intense heat. "Are y'all still sure we did the right thing?"

Bo nodded. "Sure we did, General. I mean, it's over, ain't it? He can't hurt anybody ever again and he's finally at peace. What more d'you want?"

"I still say you shoulda let me keep beatin' him," Luke, the Being, replied, folding his arms across his chest.

"No, we should not have. And are you done with my cousin yet?"

"If I bring him around now, he'll be in pain. Best to just leave it."

Just then, Daisy approached, bare feet breaking twigs along the ground. With a sigh, she unceremoniously dumped her bucket of water on the fire, extinguishing it. She rested a hand on her hip as she looked at the three of them.

"Time to go, fellas."

They all exchanged glances before grabbing shovels and pitching the ashes and debris of the fire into the river.

General winced at one piece in particular as it sank. "Look, I know most of it's gone but if someone ever were to stumble upon what's left…"

"They wouldn't be able to identify it," the Being explained, voice low.

"Yeah, but it's on our land."

"No it ain't," Bo replied.

"Wait, then whose land-"

"Best you didn't know."

General's jaw tightened as he shut his mouth. "Wonder how things are goin' on Clayton's end," he muttered as the boys handed their shovels to him.

The living room sat crowded, tuned in to the morning news. Luke lay sprawled on the couch, an arm over his face, with General sitting at his feet. Bo was on the floor in front of them, hugging his knees. Clayton was perched on the armrest of the couch. Jesse in his chair with Daisy on the armrest beside him. Behind them stood Marie, Thunder, and Diablo. And to the left were Autumn and Cooter.

"Remind me again what we're watchin' for," Jesse said, raising an eyebrow to the TV as a commercial came on.

Clayton straightened his posture and tutted. "A little birdie told me that the strangest thing happened to Ridgefield's lawyer."

The old man was quick to grow skeptical. "What'd you do?"

Clayton put a hand to his chest, feigning offense to the accusation. "Moi?"

"I'm serious now."

"I didn't do a thing, monsieur. Ask the sheriff, I was in the courthouse last night returning a few, ah…" Clayton coughed, "stolen articles."

The man's lie was seamless and though Jesse was still skeptical, found it believable. "I don't trust Rosco worth a hill of beans but if what you say is true then it's true."

Clayton took off his hat and gave a slight bow. "Truer than death."

The Duke boys could almost scoff at the resurrected man's words. But they kept quiet. As did the others.

Daisy hushed them and patted her uncle's shoulder, indicating the start of the news program. "It's startin'."

All gazes quickly turned to the television. Even Cooter and Autumn's side conversation quieted. They watched the anchor on screen, tapping a stack of white papers into place on his desk with a stately expression. It seemed as though he may have been fighting a grin or a smirk. Clayton smiled wide and leaned forward in anticipation. Luke brought his arm away from his face and sat up long enough to watch, groaning at the painful bruises that were now being dragged across the sofa.

"Well, well, welcome back to the land of the livin'," Cooter said, folding his arms across his chest. "How you feelin'?"

Luke ran a hand over his face. "Like I got hit by a truck. Twice."

Clayton hushed them as the anchor got past the opening of his report.

"Breaking news tonight on the Tri-State Killer, the nomadic serial killer has been identified as a man named Richard Danielson. Who, coincidentally, was the defense attorney of the investigation's previous suspect, Allen Ridgefield, who was also responsible for the death of notorious Los Angeles crime boss, John Cathoway. But tonight we bring you a story that has surely jarred us down here at the news station. Yesterday morning, the Capitol City police department was left with a present on their doorstep in the form of a videotape which contained the recorded confession and suicide of Danielson in which he confessed to the murders of four boys across three states and also the murder and dismemberment of Allen Ridgefield. While the murder-suicide of Danielson is no mystery, it still raises a lot of questions. What compelled him to kill in the first place? And what brought him to the breaking point? More news at four."

The station's insignia flashed as they moved on to other recent events and the weather. The living room remained silent and Jesse turned toward Clayton who was now fanning himself with his hat.

"My, what a shock. Whatever would compel him to do a thing like that?" the little man asked innocently.

Jesse pointed a finger at him. "I still can't help but think you had somethin' to do with this."

"Monsieur Duke, I can assure you, you can trust me as much as you trust your boys here. You trust them, don't you?"

Jesse's gaze went between them. "Of course I trust 'em. Everybody knows Bo and Luke would never do anythin' like that. But you on the other hand…"

Clayton was still smiling as he raised a hand. "Mr. Duke, you know me not to be a liar, I promise I never lifted a finger to that man."

Jesse grumbled and settled back in his chair.

Cooter leaned over him. "You buy that?" the mechanic asked.

"Unfortunately."

Cooter nodded. "Good, 'cause I do too."

Daisy sighed and got up, turning the TV off, the group in the living room beginning to disperse. "Well, guess that's the end of that."

Bo stood up and stretched. "Nightmare's over."

Luke covered his face with his arm again. "Curtain's closed."

"Exit stage left," Cooter added with a laugh.

"So long, adieu, sayonara, au revoir, fuck off," Clayton said with a sneer.

"Language," Jesse put in quite harshly.

The room, however, was beginning to filter out and other conversations were being led until it was only Luke and Clayton left in the room.

Clayton had gotten up and seemed as though he was about to leave as well, however, Luke's voice stopped him.

"Hey, just wanted to say thanks. I appreciate you stickin' your neck out for us," he said.

Clayton turned on a dime, waving a hand. "Oh, it was nothin', really. I had my own selfish reasons, you know that."

Luke was sitting up now, waiting for the soreness to subside before he tried to stand. "Yeah, but you still helped us out in a situation anyone else woulda probably turned away from. I can respect that. Pretty good for someone who was tryin' to kill us last year."

Clayton grinned and shrugged. "What can I say? You boys seem to have grown on me."

"You ain't so bad yourself. And I gotta hand it to ya, keepin' cool with that Danielson feller around was pretty impressive. I didn't think anythin' could scare you like that."

"Mais, wasn't nothin', cher. Like you said, curtain's closed."

Luke sighed as he carefully stood, being mindful of the injuries he'd endured. "Look, what I'm tryin' to say is that despite everythin', you overcame it. I mean, look at you. You're off the streets, off drugs, you're helpin' people, got a decent roof over your head, you're a free man, Jennings."

Luke moved to stand in front of Clayton, folding his arms across his chest.

"Quite the sentimental one today, aren't you? But, I suppose, my reverence is somethin' to be celebrated. After all, this's the first place in a long time that's felt like a home. I'm grateful for that. And I don't say that about a lotta things. Actually, I'm surprised I ain't been cast out yet."

"Our door's always open, you know that."

Clayton laughed. "You make this sound like a goodbye."

Luke smirked. "Nah, think of it as a 'welcome home'."

Clayton rolled his eyes and suddenly cringed as Luke unfolded his arms.

"Clayton, you look constipated, what're you doin'?" Luke asked concernedly.

"You looked like you were gonna hug me- I'm sayin' it's okay to hug me. I'm anticipatin'. Just make it quick," the little man replied.

"But your rule?"

Clayton growled. "Before I change my mind."

"I ain't gonna hug you if you're gonna make that face."

Clayton's eyes opened in a glare and he relaxed his face.

"Thanks."

"I hate you and I hope you die."

"Yeah, yeah."

Luke wrapped him in a hug, comfortable yet not too constricting. He was surprised by how bony the man was. He also noticed that Clayton's arms remained pinned to his sides. The man was tense as well, refusing to relax into the touch. That was all right though. Because this was, after all, an enormous step.

He felt the man's cheek come to rest on his shoulder and a bit of that tension gave way.

The devilish man hummed. "Normally people pay me to do this."

Luke quickly pushed the two of them apart. "Aaaand, now ya made it weird. Thanks for that."

Clayton smoothed some of the wrinkles in his jacket. "All you Dukes, so touchy-feely. I reckon this occasion calls for a drink, don't you?"

Luke gave him a quizzical look as the two of them walked toward the kitchen. "It's nine in the mornin'."

Clayton shrugged. "More for me, then."