The smell of rust and gunpowder overwhelmed William as his body moved back against his will. The power of the shot was both unexpected and sickeningly powerful. No one said a word. The only sound was the low and nightmarish sobbing of the man's family as the woman held the man's bloodied head in her arms. He wiped his brow, inspecting the splattered blood that was then smeared across his arm. He tried to think, but it felt as if his head had become crushed by the weight of the sky itself. The man he had just shot laid before him and beneath his feet, mangled and messy. The sticky, red mush that once made up a living man was now on full display across the floor like a macabre oil painting.

"Daddy!" The girl yelled out, tears in a river down her face.

The woman said nothing as she stood up, staring at the gun on the floor. William snapped out of his daze, running out of the room and down the stairs. He heard the scurrying of footsteps a small way behind him.

"You son of a bitch!" The woman screamed, shooting the pistol in his direction.

He fumbled through the hallway as one of the pictures beside him flew off the wall. He ran to the front door and swung it open as another bullet shattered the glass window to his left. The light had gone out outside as the overcast covered up the moon's glow. His feet never ceased their sprint from the house, running into the forest on the right side, alongside the empty road. Another gunshot was never heard, but his body was expecting one any second. He felt his body, trying to find a bullet hole he may not have noticed. He nearly lost his breath when his fingers touched a wound but realized it was the injury from the window.

After what seemed to be hours of running, he stopped against a tree to catch his breath. His lungs ached with the inhale of such freezing air. The image of the man with an eye blown out of its socket kept nagging in his mind. He'd killed someone. Was he another Father? Was he behind everything? Perhaps he was an innocent man with a family who loved him. The thought brought upon him a pain that was too great to handle. He pushed off the trunk of the tree and walked into the road. He hoped the woman would be there, pistol in hand. He'd hoped a cowboy on horseback would be galloping in, rifle steadily aimed in his direction.

Driving a fork or a nail into the neck of Father had been so easy. Those acts were never taken lightly, yet they'd been so effortless within his mind. But shooting the man in the house? It haunted him. Perhaps, he'd ponder, it was the uncertainty that twisted his gut. The hard gravel beneath his feet only supplemented the fear of what he'd done.

"I'm not a killer," He said to himself, "I'm not like Father."

A sound ahead of William caught his attention. However, it didn't deter his slow pace along the road. The sound became louder, like gravel being rolled around and smashed into the hard dirt. Two bright lights appeared over the hill, illuminating William against the night. It was a car, though William was unsure what it was. Then, colorful lights began to dance across his face. It was mesmerizing to witness. A fear set in on William. He wondered if it was Father, coming to snatch him up and take him back to the room. William began to trail off to the side of the road, towards the trees. Michael's warning to trust no one trembled forth and his instinct to survive once again boiled up. Although the killing of that man had made him sick, he knew that surviving the night was more than just about himself. Others needed him. The car pulled up, its red and blue lights flashing wildly, and William began to run into the forest.

"Hey! Stop!" A woman yelled from behind him.

He kept running, ignoring her request. He heard her footsteps pressing into the gravel and then onto the leaves. She was running, too.

"Stop! Now!" She yelled.

How long could he keep up the running? His legs were ready to crumble with any step. His lungs were on the verge of giving out. He knew he had to hide; there was no chance to outrun her. The flashing lights revealed parts of the forest ahead and the woman's flashlight was beamed in his direction. He heard a buzzing noise followed by a beep and the woman began to speak.

"I need back-up. Suspect fleeing on foot."

He twisted his body to the left, straight into a densely packed section of bushes. He nearly dove into them, trying to hide his small frame within the foliage. The woman stopped, pointing her light around her.

"I'm not here to hurt you. I just need to ask some questions." She said.

The light hovered over William along the top of the bushes, his eyes closed as he prayed that he wouldn't be found.

"Are you hurt?" She asked, her gaze fixated on William's direction. His pale skin did little to help conceal his position amongst the withering plants. Not much could be done about the cold either, which made each exhale come out from the bushes in a burst of misty air. As much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, he knew he'd been caught. There was nothing else for him to do then besides get up slowly, hands reaching into the frigid heavens.

"Easy now. What's your name?" She asked.

"My name's William."

"Why'd you run?"

A palpable silence sat between them that seemed to intensify the cold even more. William cocked his head to the side, trying to shield his eyes from the woman's flashlight.

"Did you happen to hear some gunshots while you were walking out here?" She asked, lowering the light a bit, revealing his malnourished frame. She almost gasped at the sight.

"I did." He said.

"I don't normally come down this road. I haven't for a very long time. But I like the woods this time of year. Thought I'd take a detour. Heard the shots about a mile down that way. Hard not to hear something like that in a place as empty as this. Are you hurt, William?"

William's eyes darted back and forth from the cop to the ground. Shivering, though he couldn't tell if it was from the frost in the air or the nervous wreck inside of him.

"There's a lot of people hurt out here."

"Are you talking about the gunshots? Do you have any weapons on you?" She asked.

"I don't have anything."

She began to walk towards him. "As I said, I'm not going to hurt you, okay? I promise."

"Are you with them," he asked, "at least tell me that much."

"With who?"

"Father. Mr. Scratch. All of them."

She looked at him, confused. "No sir, I'm Officer Boone, Lavaca Police Department."

He remembered "police" from those old western movies. He recalled them always being on the hunt for criminals, going toe-to-toe with the outlaws. In the movies, they'd never truly win in the end. There was always one last outlaw that they couldn't quite catch. Was he a criminal? If so, he stood no chance against the law.

"I'm going to handcuff you, sir. For both of our safety."

She pulled both of his arms down and behind his back, clicking the metal cuffs into place around his wrists.

"You'll need more help if you go there."

"Where should I be going?" She asked.

He hesitated to tell her about the house. "There's a house down the road. A little girl and her mother are in there - she has a gun. But there's a place you need to go straight across from there, too. Not sure how far but it's a long walk. Like I said, bring help."

They reached the car and she placed him into the back seat. He'd never seen such a thing before. The seats were soft, and the myriad of buttons and lights was like looking into another world that had long passed him by. The bars that separated the front from the back seats brought forward many memories of the window. He didn't feel trapped, though. It was almost a feeling of relief.

The car was warm, after all, and the woman had been nice enough, even with a gun in hand. Another police car soon pulled up beside them, but their voices were muffled beyond the closed door. Before long, the other car made its way down towards the home. When Officer Boone got into the front seat, she began to drive as well. But the vehicle instead turned around and headed in the opposite direction. More cars whizzed past them, on their way to the crime scene.

"We'll get you to the station and figure things out from there. Sound good, William?"

"Are they going to help the others?" He asked, looking outside the window as the trees blurred by. He had so many questions. How far away were they headed? Was he the criminal? How long until he could see Michael again? But William was so tired. He could only ask one question at a time and even that took its toll.

"We're going to do everything we can, okay? But we need to get you medical help first. Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," he said as he looked into the sky, listening as best he could for the impending question, he noticed an orange glow peeking out from the trees as they drove up the steep road. Thick black smoke rose into the night from deep within the forest.

"You mentioned a couple of people back in the woods. I believe it was your father and... Mr. Scratch?"