Elsa stood at the kitchen sink, washing the dishes she had used for tonight's supper. Steam rose up from the dish water and clung to the window, causing it to frost over. The hearty smell of guiso carrero still filled the air, a reminder of their recently finished meal that even the Raders had enjoyed.

As she scrubbed out the pot, Elsa's brow furrowed. After dinner, Wolfgang had filled a bowl with stew and had fixed himself some hot cocoa. She had watched from the corner of her eye as he had placed the food on a tray and then had disappeared outside. Out to the shed. She had bit back her questions. Perhaps he wanted to enjoy an extra helping in peace without Wolfie pestering him to play. Elsa looked over her shoulder. Wolfie was laying on his stomach in the sitting room, pushing a toy car while vibrating his lips. He was bored, waiting for his father to come back in to entertain him.

Elsa turned her attention back to her dishes and then up to the window in front of her. She reached over the sink and rubbed off some of the frost that had built up. The window offered her a view into the back yard. To the shed. The shed that occupied so much of Wolfgang's time. And, again, she had the nagging feeling that something was going on in there. Something that Wolfgang wasn't telling her.

She kept washing, glancing up every now and then to see when her husband would emerge from his makeshift office outside. She had just finished the last dish when the door of the shed swung open, casting a beam of light on the snowy yard, cutting through the growing darkness of the evening. Wolfgang pulled the door shut behind him, so hard that a bit of snow dislodged from the roof. He turned and locked the padlock that barred entry into his fortress. Then he turned on a flashlight and started trudging back towards the house. He paused and turned back to look at the shed and, as he did, his light swept past the footprints he had made in the snow. It was just a moment, less time than it took to blink, but Elsa saw it all the same. As the light swept past, red stood out starkly in his foot print in the snow. Elsa's breath caught in her throat. Red. Like blood.

The sound of the gunshot from earlier rang in her ears. She knew it hadn't been a rifle. And it had sounded too close to have come from the slaughterhouse. But had it really come from the shed? What was Wolfgang doing in there? And… did she really want to know?

Wolfgang disappeared from sight as he rounded the corner of the house, heading for the front door. Elsa grabbed a few of the clean dishes and dropped them into the sink, keeping her eyes glued to them as the door opened. As she had suspected, Wolfie immediately jumped up with a 'Papa!' and ran to his father. Wolfgang gave him a half grin and patted his head.

"Excellent dinner, my dear," Wolfgang said as he shucked off his coat and hung it on the rack.

"Yes. Did you enjoy your bit of peace and quiet?" Elsa asked.

"Yes, yes," Wolfgang said. He grabbed Wolfie and lifted him up. With a grunt of effort, he threw Wolfie up and then caught him, pulling him into a hug. "And now begins the chaos, eh, Wolfie?!" He set Wolfie down. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Wolfie jumped up again, tackling his father. Wolfgang growled and lifted him up before stomping over and tossing him onto the couch. Wolfie jumped up onto Wolfgang's back, arms tight around his neck. Wolfgang faked a gag and fell to his hands and knees, Wolfie still on his back.

"Chaos indeed," Karl said from his chair, watching Wolfgang and Wolfie wrestle on the ground.

"I don't suppose you would have acted like that if we had had children?" Bertha asked from her spot at the table where she was reading the day's newspaper, a cup of tea steaming beside her.

"Maybe," Karl said. "But you do look like a damned fool, Wolfgang!"

Wolfgang roared and pinned Wolfie to the ground under his hand before tickling him. Wolfie squealed and kicked. ""¡Para! ¡Para! ¡Paraaaaaa, papá, me rindo!" he cried through giggles.

"In German, Wolfie!" Wolfgang growled, increasing his attack.

"Halt, bitte! Halt! Haaaaaaalt!" Wolfie wheezed.

Wolfgang laughed and fell back against the edge of the couch. "Der Sieg gehört mir!"

Wolfie rolled onto his side, holding his stomach and giggling. "¡Tú ganas, tú ganas—ich gebe auf!"

Elsa put the newly re-washed dishes in the rack and then wiped her hands on her apron. "All right, it is time to calm down with a story. Then bed."

"Oh, but Mama," Wolfie whined.

"Ja, 'oh but Mama," Wolgang echoed.

"No 'buts'."

"Ja, it's time for you to put your kleiner Rowdy to sleep!" Karl said, leaning back in his chair. Bertha scrunched down her paper and scowled before muttering under her breath in German.

Wolfgang and Wolfie gave twin sighs as they climbed onto the couch. "Go get a book," Wolfgang ordered. Wolfie scrambled off and disappeared down the hall to their room. Elsa came and settled on the other side of the couch. She gave her husband a weak smile, but her mind lingered on the patch of red she saw in the snow. Wolfie came back a moment later and jumped between them and handed his book over to Wolfgang who opened it. Elsa listened for a moment, but then tuned it out, her mind whirling.

A gunshot. Blood in the snow. Mysterious business in that shed.

She slid her eyes over to her husband. He was using a silly voice for one of the characters while Wolfie grinned and snuggled close to him, pointing at a picture. A scene Elsa had seen a hundred times or more. And yet, tonight, it was glazed with an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach.

What was Wolfgang hiding under that smile?

Wolfgang's snores cut through the darkness. Elsa carefully opened her eyes. She had been laying rigidly in bed, her eyes closed, but still awake. She had been waiting for this moment. The moment when her husband finally fell into deep sleep.

Carefully, she untangled herself from Wolfie's grasp. Her son snuffled and rolled over, settling, instead, against his father. Wolfgang snorted and Elsa froze. But then he settled and started snoring again. Elsa let out a little sigh and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She gently pushed herself onto her feet and then padded across the room. Placing one hand on the door, she grabbed the doorknob with the other. The door creaked quietly as she pulled it open and she winced, looking over her shoulder. Wolfgang hadn't moved. Silently, she slipped out into the hall.

As quietly and quickly as she could, she lightly stepped down the hall and into the sitting room, then to the front door. Wolfgang's coat hung on the nearby rack. She grabbed it, pulling it closer and fished through his pockets. Her hand stopped and she pulled it out like she had been burned. A gun. A gun in his pocket. That shot from earlier...

She reached into the other pocket. The keys fell into her palm and she pulled them out. Biting her lip, she looked from them, to her room down the hall, and then to the front door.

She had to know.

Grabbing her own coat, she put it on over her nightdress. Then she slipped her feet into a pair of boots. Taking a breath, she went outside.

The freezing night air stole her breath and she pulled her coat tighter around her neck. She hurried down the steps and found Wolfgang's prints and followed them, the moonlight her only other guide through the night. She paused as she approached the shed. Approached the first couple of footprints leading out from them. Even in the moonlight she could see the depressed snow was darker. She imagined what it looked like in the light of day: red against white. Again, she bit her lip, pausing outside the shed.

Did she really want to know what was in there?

No, she needed to know. She needed to put her mind at ease. Maybe… Maybe Wolfgang was practicing how to slaughter an animal. Maybe…

There was no point in guessing when the answer lay on the other side.

She grabbed the padlock and pulled the keys from her pocket. She tried to fit one in but when it didn't work, she tried another. Her breath shook, puffing out in wispy clouds as she tried another, then another. Finally, the third key fit and the lock clicked. She pulled it down and twisted it before pulling it off and pocketing in. She took a steadying breath and pushed open the door.

The smell hit her first. Blood, sweat, waste. She nearly ducked back out but forced herself to ignore it and stepped in fully.

Her breath caught in her throat.

A leg extended from behind a table, bare-foot and limp. A rag, perhaps a shirt, was tied around the knee, the blue fabric encrusted with dried blood. Her eyes followed the leg up but its owner was obscured by the table. She took a breath and stepped closer.

A man, bloodied and bruised, was propped up against the wall. His breaths were ragged and shallow, his face a blackened mess of bruises. A blanket partially covered him, but his hand peeked out, cuffed to the table leg.

The man groaned and barely cracked an eye open. "What now, Hochstetter," he croaked.

Elsa bolted. She was halfway across the lawn when she realized the door to the shed was still opening, spilling light out onto the snow. She stopped and turned back, fear crawling up her throat.

What was going on?!

Who was that man?! Why was he in there? What… What had happened to him? And… And why was Wolfgang keeping him there?

She pushed all the questions down. She couldn't answer them yet. Didn't know if she could ever answer them. She didn't know if she wanted the answers.

But she did know she needed to close the door. She needed to make sure Wolfgang never knew she had found out what was in there.

She headed back, legs shaking. The light from the shed confirmed what she already knew as it illuminated the bloodied footprint near the door. She stretched, reaching for the door to close it, not daring to come any closer than she had to. She didn't want to see that man in there again. Didn't want to hear his worryingly raspy breathing. Didn't want to smell the death circling around him.

She grabbed the door and pulled it closed, then locked it back up. She turned back to the house, following Wolfgang's prints back, fretting at her own prints she had left in her first mad dash out of the shed. Would Wolfgang notice them?

She hurried back inside, shedding her coat. She slipped Wolfgang's keys back into his pocket.

Now what?

She glanced down the hall to her room. Did she go back in? Did she crawl back into bed with her husband and son and forget everything she had just seen?

What was going on? What… Why? Wolfgang obviously knew that man was out there. He was holding him for some reason. But why?

She knew her husband had a dangerous edge. She had always known it. But she had thought she had smoothed it out over the years. And, even before then, she had never thought him capable of what she had seen in the shed.

But was he actually responsible for the man's condition? Yes, he was keeping him there and that was unsettling enough. But had her husband inflicted the man's injuries? Had he… shot him? That wound on the man's knee had looked—smelled— old. But then why the shot?

Elsa's mind ran in circles as she paced. She couldn't understand it.

The door down the hall creaked open and Elsa froze, terrified as Wolfgang came out.

"Elsa?" he asked, voice rough with sleep. "What are you doing out here?"

Elsa faltered. "I…" She took a breath, pulling herself up straight. "I couldn't sleep," she said, managing a small smile. "You and Wolfie snoring together like a pair of tractors!"

Wolfgang chuckled. "Ah, yes. We make quite the pair!" He came up to her and grabbed her hand. "Sorry, my darling."

"It's… There's no need for apologies," she said, trying not to flinch at his touch. They were the same hands she had known this morning, weren't they?

"You should go back to sleep," Wolfgang said. "I have things to do outside, anyway. My snores won't bother you for a while."

"All right," Elsa said mechanically. He was going out again. Out to the shed. Out to that man.

Wolfgang kissed her cheek and, as she moved past, he patted her bottom. She looked over his shoulder and met his smirk with a small, forced smile. Then she slipped into their bedroom. She kept the door opened a crack, pressing up against the wall beside it. She watched through the slit as Wolfgang stood in the middle of the sitting room. Then he grabbed his coat and headed outside. She waited a moment, holding her breath, before leaving the room. She rushed to the kitchen and looked out the back window. She watched Wolfgang walk through the yard. Walk through the snow, not noticing the prints she had left behind. Even in the darkness, she could see the determination on his face, his focus solely on the shed.

Elsa gripped the counter as she watched him disappear into the shed. What was he doing in there? With that poor man? Why wasn't he helping him?

Just who was the man she called her husband?