The Price - Part 3 (A Dark Shadows Story)

[lovesrain44]

"G-get out and leave me alone," Willie said again. "I can take care of m-myself." The last thing he wanted were the vampire's hands, those cold, deft hands that knew so much, to be touching him. One of those hands became a tight clenched fist.

"Go ahead and hit me," said Willie, feeling a blaze ignite inside. "It'll make you feel better, and I couldn't possibly feel any worse."

That's right, Willie, taunt the bear in his own den, that's the smart thing to do.

But he found that his fear had taken a back seat to anger. Only he couldn't figure out if it was anger at Barnabas' assuming that a little first aid would make Willie the servant Barnabas wanted him to be or whether he was angry at himself. Angry for allowing Barnabas to see inside him, for allowing the vampire to give him his heart's desire.

His mocking words fell on the empty air, warmed by the now flickering fire, and he found he was shaking, not with fear, but with the ripple of heat and pain that shot up his back, muscles cramping tightly, sending him forward, hot tears spilling down his face. He wiped at them with the heel of his hand, then pushed his face back into the pillow. Barnabas already had seen too much, knew too much, he didn't need any more of Willie's soul.

He's got me right where he wants me.

There was a long, quiet pause, and he heard Barnabas shift on his feet, and beyond that, the soft, almost silent sigh of wax being drawn through wick. And then a small cough.

"Miss Winters surmised that I had struck you out of anger over the incident with the gaming box in the kitchen."

Barnabas stopped, and Willie felt the first movings of disbelief. How had she surmised that?

Oh, his lip.

"She then told me that if I punished you for your ill-spoken words earlier this evening, I would be wrong."

Another pause, and Willie found himself straining to hear the vampire's next words, wondering why Vicki would even care. Or why the vampire would bother to repeat any of their conversation. To him, of all people.

"She further bade me to bring you this, and to make sure that you used it."

There was a rustle of cloth and something was placed in his hand as Barnabas unclenched Willie's fist and forced the fingers open. Curiosity won him, and he lifted his head enough to see what it was. A cool, metal tube of ointment with a red cross at the end, and though his fingers were in the way of the writing there, he knew what it was.

"She said that I was to tend to you."

Barnabas might be able to hold back the very hand of God, but even the vampire's might was, apparently, not enough to hold back the hand of Miss Victoria Winters. Take care of Willie, Vicki had obviously said. He's been hurt. Willie jerked when he felt the blankets and sheets being drawn back, his breath catching as he felt the hands on him, lifting the remains of his t-shirt. He turned to move away, to flatten himself against the wall so that no one could touch him, but a large, firm hand on his back held him down. Barnabas, it seemed, was not only going to follow the letter of her instructions, he was going to abide by the intent. It didn't matter which hurt she had meant, Barnabas was going to tend to all of them.

"Be still, Willie." The voice was low and calm, and he could sense a smattering of the Thing, the commanding undertone that seemed to lock the raggedness away. To spread a soothing fog that although sprinkled him with pricks of unease nevertheless slowed his heart and his breath, letting his head fall back down, his eyes half closing.

It's gonna be alright, it's gonna be alright.

And he let the hands touch him, feeling an odd twinge or two, but somewhere in the pockets of his mind he was amazed at the gentleness of the vampire's movements. Slow and careful, peeling the cloth away, lifting the weight of Willie's body with one broad hand and setting him down again. The salt water came next, applied with a soft cloth, the water stinging, as it always did, but the fact that it was warm made it more bearable, cooling only when it slid down the side of Willie's ribs. On his neck, lifting away the traces of blood there.

He rested with his chin on his hands, letting the moment wash over him with the water, not wanting to think any thoughts beyond the sensation of the salt working its way into his skin. But they turned to Vicki just the same; he had not known that she would stand up for him like that, that she was strong enough to tell Barnabas what to do and make it stick.

Although perhaps he shouldn't be so surprised, when Vicki said no, she meant no; even in his earliest days at Collinwood, he'd suspected that Carolyn was the easier mark. Not that he would think of pulling anything like that now; since he'd come to work for Barnabas, everyone at Collinwood treated him differently. Particularly Carolyn and Vicki, who somehow, before anyone else, had sensed that the change in him was real. But Vicki especially.

The cloth was dropped back in the basin and another towel was lifted and pressed against the long muscles of his back only hard enough absorb the moisture there. Then he heard Barnabas take the tube from the bed, and the scratching metal on metal sound as he undid the cap. Then his fingertips began applying the first aid ointment to Willie's back.

Willie flinched at the first touch of the cold balm, at the sliding pressure of Barnabas' fingers as they traced over his skin, at the errant brush of a thumb or a forefinger icy against him. But the vampire made some low sound in his throat and it went straight into Willie's heart, and, as if it had been comfortably weighted, his head sank back down to the pillow. The fingers continued, following the line of the welts carefully, laying down a spread of coolness there, the rustle of cloth and wool the only sound before the numbness set in and the fiery heat faded away. Not completely, it was still there, throbbing just below the surface, but its easement away allowed
Willie to take, at last, a full, deep breath, sighing as he exhaled. Barnabas continued until the last of the welts and cuts were covered; even the deep purple sear on Willie's arm did not go untended.

"Turn your head this way," he heard, and he did so, not knowing why, until Barnabas tried to touch the corner of his mouth. Willie jerked his face back, startled, the fog breaking away. He could now feel the faint current of air against his cheek as Barnabas reached for him.

"Hold still, and let me finish," said Barnabas, with his usual irritation.

Willie held still, fear pattering its way up from his stomach, and with one finger, Barnabas spread the ointment over the cut in his lip. It too faded to numbness, and Willie could taste the slight tang of medication with his tongue.

And then Barnabas was done. He stood back, looking at the tube in his hands as he put the cap back on. Willie wasn't about to say thank you, but he didn't imagine that Barnabas expected it, after all the whipping had been fully deserved in Barnabas' mind, and the careful tending afterwards had been at someone else's behest.

"I marvel at modern science," Barnabas was saying now, looking at the mostly empty tube, curled in the palm of his hand, "that they can contain all of the wisdom of the village doctor in one place."

Willie rolled on his side a little bit to look at the vampire, his face still in the half-light of the courting candle's gentle flame. Whiter now than it had been before, and pensive, looking at the tube in his hands as if it were of the utmost interest to him.

And then Willie found that he had to know.

"Did-did she take it?" he asked.

Barnabas lifted his head and placed the tube on the nightstand next to the bed. It made a little clink when it hit the marble. His mouth worked slightly as he seemed to consider whether or not he should answer. "Yes," he said, finally. "In the end."

"H-how-"

"I made a bargain with her, an ungentlemanly thing to agree to with a lady, but I had no alternative."

He shrugged his shoulders then, obviously the rules for a gentleman's behavior applied to him only when he decided they did. He looked at Willie as if daring him to say something about it, but he no longer looked angry, as if something had pleased him enough to wipe away the memory of the botched gift giving. His evening with Vicki, it seemed, had gone well after all. And though his eyes glimmered with what had passed between them, he did not speak of it.

Only stepped forward to pull the torn sheet and the wool blanket up over Willie and to lift the other blanket from the floor, and lay that on top of him as well. He blew out all the candles in the room, save for the courting candle, and lifted the basin and stepped away, opening the door with one hand and letting in a swoosh of cold air. "Rest now," he said. "You may return to work in the morning if you are able."

Curiosity flickered in Willie's stomach, and he could not stop himself. "Barnabas?"

"Yes?" asked the vampire, pausing over the threshold.

"W-what did you bargain with?"

The vampire tilted his head to one side as if listening to a sound from down the hall. "You," he said, not looking at Willie. Then he shut the door behind him.

Listening to the footsteps fading away, Willie let the muscles in his neck relax even as his mind raced at the vampire's parting remark. His safety must have been pledged when Vicki had agreed to accept the gift, high price tag or no. How Barnabas had managed it was beyond him. Or maybe it had been Vicki who had set the terms, not knowing that a whipping had already been delivered. Not her fault, though, she had done the best she could, done more than anybody had, all without knowing the truth.

Kind. She is nothing but kind.

Barnabas didn't deserve her.

But deserving or not, Barnabas had at last made some inroads in his courtship with Vicki. And she in her turn seemed willing to allow it. Still that didn't make it right, what Barnabas was doing, or planning to do.

He made his mind turn away from this thought, even as he tucked his head in his arms.

Don't think about that part of it. Nothing you can do.

But he knew, if the opportunity presented itself, he would do whatever he could to help her. The glow of the single candle on his nightstand was soothing, and the numbness of his back and arm allowed him to start floating away. For once he was warm enough; Barnabas certainly knew how to poke up a fire. As if one would ever dare not spring brightly to life when he wanted it to.

Sleep was coming at a rapid pace, like silent galloping horses, and his fragmented thoughts turned to the gaming box. It had been a beautiful piece, carefully made, the edges smooth. The brightly painted wood was eye-catching, the peacock almost coming to life when the lid was lifted. And inside, everything intact, all the hand carved mother-of-pearl in the shape of circles and stars and diamonds. Playing cards that were featherlight, two sets, wrapped in silk ribbon. Vicki deserved to have it, she would be the only one in the whole of Collinwood who would properly appreciate its handmade grace, who would use it and care for it, never forgetting its origins. Barnabas had known that, had spotted in Vicki a kindred spirit. But in accepting a gift that seemed made for her hands, she had signed her own death warrant. And though she had saved Willie with her bargain, her own existence was forfeit. He took the ache in his heart with him into sleep.

*

Walking back to the Old House from Collinwood was a little like he imagined a death march would be. While he'd been talking on the phone to Wesley Dale Towing, the muscle he'd pulled in his thigh last night had seized up with a dark, galloping pain, and he'd had to hold the phone away from his face as he clenched down on the very useful and expressive words that sprang to his tongue. And then, afterwards, as he'd closed the door behind him, his shirt had come untucked, and the waistband of his bands began to rub in earnest against the welts there.

Earlier that morning he'd taken great pains to tuck in his t-shirt just so, as a barrier between his skin and his pants, but his garments had become rucked somehow. He sensed, however, that he was being watched from the window by Mrs. Johnson, her eagle eyes making sure that he actually left the grounds, and it was yards and yards across the lawn before he could duck behind some trees and reset his t-shirt. This was made even more difficult by the fact that his left arm could only be lifted halfway, and his right arm could only reach back along his waist so far and no farther. By the time he finished, the welts had been rubbed open and a spirited fire was glowing along the small of his back.

Along with that, the memory of last night, as he walked along the path as fast as his thigh would let him, continued to play right behind his eyes, over and over, on a continual loop of film. He let it run, thinking he would, in time, become numb to what had happened between him and Barnabas. Though he wondered how that could be, the image drew him into it even as he walked, tender and waiting, making him start to tremble deep inside. He shook his head and grit his teeth and made himself think of other things. Like how he had asked after Vicki up at Collinwood.

Luckily she had been gone because he had no idea what he would say to her. After all, what could you say to someone who had bargained for your safety at such great expense to themselves, never realizing that the danger had already been and gone?

He considered her bargain as he reached the clearing in front of the Old House, trying, in the light of the day, to see it for what it was. If he had not spoken about the price of the gaming box, she would have been well prepared to accept Barnabas' gift; her approval of his taste was well known, even to Willie. And, had she done so, the taking of the gift would have set her well on her way to walking right into Barnabas' arms. All willing, even if not completely aware. It was as if, in bargaining for Willie's safety, she had merely done what she had been already planning to do. Her bargain, then, had changed nothing, except for the fact that Willie's back had been soothed by ointment and hurt a little less than it might have.

Stopping next to the truck, hubcap-deep in solidifying mud, he ran his fingers through his hair, hoping he wasn't merely justifying his acceptance of what she had done. And of what was to happen to her.

But you can't save her if she's not willing to save herself.

No, he couldn't. He knew that, realizing as the waves of relief surged through him that he'd been terrified of standing up to Barnabas again. Like he had with Maggie, standing between her and the vampire, putting the cost of his life before hers. Charging the vampire with the vulnerability of his own existence, daring him to make a choice. He'd won that day, somehow, but he didn't think he could do it again. Not for Vicki, not even for Maggie, if she were still alive. In that place where his courage had come galloping forth there now only waited an empty blankness, and nothing existed to fill it up again.

Christ.

The sound of a diesel engine rumbling through the trees cut through his thoughts, and gratefully he turned toward it, catching the scent of overburned fuel, the air tainted by the harsh echo of raw brakes and clunking gear. Within moments, the tow truck appeared, wheels tearing up dead grass as it drove half-on and half-off the road. Sensible thing to do, with the road being still mostly mud, but Willie decided then and there that he would play absolutely dumb if Barnabas were to ever notice and ask about it.

The truck came to a stumbling halt side by side with Willie's truck, and the driver got out, leaving the truck running. Plumes of smoke smudged the air.

"You Loomis?" he asked, pushing cap back from his tumble of dark hair. Greasy fingerprints on the face of the cap told Willie that this was a habit of long standing.

"That's right," he said.

"Well, I'm Wesley Dale, the tow truck man. This your truck?"

"Yeah, that's her."

"She's stuck, huh?"

Wesley liked to state the obvious it seemed, and Willie bit back the smart answer that rose in his throat.

"Yes, stuck alright."

Wesley surveyed the situation, walking all the way around the truck, squatting down once to examine the mud. Then he made his way back to Willie, nodding with the ease of a man who was meeting up with a friend he had known forever. He pushed back his hat with his forearm, as if he'd worked up quite a lather in the brisk air and now wanted to cool off.

"Course, if you'd laid something down last fall, like blacktop or gravel, this never would have happened."

Willie felt the glower surge through him like a weight of bricks that only wanted to fall on someone. He tightened his face against it; it wouldn't do for any report to get back to Barnabas.
He heard a little laugh, and looked up.

Wesley was shaking his head, the hat coming down on his forehead. "Guess you already thought of that one, huh?"

Willie nodded, still frowning. "I told my boss but-" he began, but cut himself off, no sense spreading any rumors or giving any grist for the gossip mill.

Wesley shrugged, pushing his lips forward as if he were pursuing great thoughts. "Ah, hell, bosses. They're idiots. Ya know?"

For a second Willie was startled at this irreverence and the fact that this man, this ordinary villager, thought that Barnabas Collins was an idiot. He felt something tickling the inside of his nose, and just for one second it overrode the pain in his back. He tried rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, looking away from Wesley as the other man contemplated the mud-locked truck and the great feat he was about to perform on it. Willie thought he was okay, until he looked back at Wesley, rubbing his chin like the local wiseman. And then Wesley nodded, his eyes sparking green lights as they caught Willie's, and Willie, inexplicably, found himself wanting to laugh.

"Yep, every single last one an idiot, strutting around like a peacock, nose in the air, giving orders, and bellyaching like a baby when it don't go their way."

The sudden image of Barnabas flipped into his mind, that of the vampire, pacing across the sitting room as he gave orders, head tilted back in exactly the way Wesley described, and the snort escaped him before he could stop it.

The other man let out a full bark of laughter and then began pulling on his gloves. "And that, my friend," he said, nodding as if to encourage Willie, "is why I run my own business. None of that peacock bullshit for me, no sir."

Willie felt his mouth quirk up at the corners, and he nodded back at Wesley, letting the tiny, bright bubble work its way through him, not stopping it. Wanting, just for a moment, to feel the brightness of the day, to move past the heaviness of his heart and the ever-present streaks of fire beneath his shirt.

"Alright then," Wesley said, climbing into his truck, his voice rising over the rumble of the diesel engine, "where do you want her?"

Willie, still feeling the smile, motioned toward the house, to the spot next to the back door where the truck usually stood. Wesley gunned the engine and maneuvered the tow truck into place, backing in so close to the other truck's bumper that Willie feared they would collide. But Wesley was obviously a veteran of many a tow, and as he got out and got to work connecting the tow bar to the marooned truck's fender, Willie felt himself relaxing. It was nice, for a change, to stand back and watch someone else do all the work, knowing that he wouldn't be asked to help. He stepped away as Wesley began revving the engine, gunning it down and forcing the truck's wheels out of the mud with three hard bursts.

Grinning at his own success, Wesley leaned out of his window and slapped his hand down. Then with a belch of blue smoke, the tow truck leaped up the hill. Willie followed slowly, his thighs having stiffened up again while he stood still, reminding him of the night before with tender twinges and streaks of white heat. He arrived at the top of the hill just as Wesley was unhooking the tow bar. Then the other man set the bar on the back of his own truck, secured it, and took off his gloves.

"If you'll just sign for me," he said, as he went to his cab and pulled out a clipboard.

"Can't you just send the bill?" Willie asked.

"Nope, it's on the Collins' account." Wesley smiled at Willie's frown of doubt; Barnabas usually liked to pay his own debts. "Don't worry, I already checked with ole Roger, cause I like to take care of my best customers." He laughed as Willie took the clipboard and signed his name on the faded pink sheet. "That Roger, he needs a tow along about twice a month, you know, and my wife, well, she hopes he never goes sober. It's gonna put our girls through college!"

Willie wasn't sure whether to laugh at this one or not, but he smiled anyway, and shrugged as if to say, yeah, that ole Roger, he's something. As if satisfied with this, Wesley held out his hand, clapping it to Willie's and shaking it firmly.

"You're alright, kid, you're alright. And here, take this card." He reached into his breast pocket with his other hand as he let go of Willie. "This is my brother-in-law, owns a quarry. He could lay you some gravel all right, and you tell him I sent you, he'll cut you a break. Make you an estimate first, too."

Willie looked at the card, freshly streaked with grease from Wesley's hand, his thumb moving absently over the raised, blue type that read Curt Brewster, Brewster's Quarry.

"Can he come by this afternoon?" he asked. Having something specific to concentrate on would give his mind something to do other than replay last night's dark dance. And he would be able to give Barnabas something new to think about as well, when sunset came. Just in case the vampire was considering a repeat.

"Yeah, sure, give him a call, or I'll just tell him when I see him at lunch. You'll be here?"

He nodded slowly, yes, he would be here. He would always be here.

"Okey-doke, then, I'll tell him to come by," said Wesley, climbing back into his truck. He worked the gears into first, the metal grinding together a bit, then he leaned out the window, and motioned Willie to come closer. Willie obliged him, though his throat closed up at the oil fumes that poured out from the bed of the truck.

"You get that gravel laid, right?"

Willie nodded again, shrugging a bit as if to agree to the obvious.

"No, I mean, really. Cause even if we don't get a washout like the one we just had, you need to have the gravel laid before the next rain. You gotta get this road ready. Thataway, you'll always have a way out of here. You get me?"

Startled, Willie felt his eyes narrow. Of course, Wesley was just stating the obvious, but for a second, it sounded like he had been trying to say something else. But the expression on Wesley's face was as it should be, just a man trying to drum up some business for his brother-in-law, Curt.

"O-okay, I will," he said, finally, and Wesley nodded, satisfied, gave his engine a shot of fuel, and the tow truck lurched from a standstill and raced down the lane. Willie watched it go, listened to the echo of the engine die away, feeling himself grow numb from the inside out.

In October his instincts had been exactly right: fix the road. Only back in the fall he had thought to get it fixed so that he could travel between the Old House and town. That was where his error lay. And last night he had been trying to prove that Barnabas had been wrong and that he, Willie, had been right. Proving Barnabas wrong would never happen, and he was foolish to try, because out of it would come only the most disastrous consequences. Just as he was foolish to narrow his focus to the point where his only plan was to trundle back and forth between the village and the estate. As if Collinwood were his whole world, and the Old House his final destination.

Wesley had been right, even if his advice had been self-serving: he needed to keep his options open. Fix the road so that one day, some day, he could pack his things and walk on out. Or leave them behind if need be, and travel light, the way he and Jason sometimes used to. Jason was the one who taught him that when he was in a strange place he should sleep near a door, or at the very least, a window. To always be wary. But between opening the secret tomb and the heartache of Maggie's death, he'd forgotten that. Sometime along when the snows had piled up to the windowsills on the first floor, he'd mentally tucked his head in his arms and blocked out the world. Lived each day and survived each night, with his heart believing that the world was as it was and there was no changing it. Part of it was the vampire's spell, sifting through his blood, linking him to Barnabas, regardless as to whether the sun had risen or set. But was it Barnabas' fault for pulling him down so low that he would fall to his knees, tilt back his neck, and beg for it? Or was he himself to blame for wanting the quiet pressure of Barnabas' mouth on him, the arms that held him turning warm, his heart thumping till the pleasure burst from him?

He turned away from the newly freed truck, from the Old House, looming cold in the scattered sunshine, stuffing his fist in his mouth. Not to stifle a scream which no one would hear, but to stifle a sob that would rend his soul in two if he were to release it. The part that belonged to Barnabas, the vampire part, he could almost dismiss, but the part that was his own clung to him, had sucked him in, trapping him like the mud on the road had trapped the tires.

You knew this would happen.

Yes, had told himself to avoid the trap of Barnabas' arms, told himself what would happen if he did not. But he hadn't. And it had.

But how was he to turn away, amidst all dank hollowness that became his every waking hour, from the only pleasure he knew? His fist dropped from his mouth, and he tried to take a deep breath, tried to tell his stomach to stop churning. But as he lifted his hands to brush his hair back, he realized his face was damp. He heard his own shuddering breath, and with a deep, pitched turn of his gut, realized that the draw of pleasure, the warmth and oblivion it provided, was too strong.

Wrapping his arms around his waist, he walked, head tipped down, eyes focused on the ground just in front of his feet. The path to the kitchen door was a slender river of mud, veins of water making slightly deeper cuts in the earth, and a shift of wind brought the sea air to smack him directly in the face. He turned his back to the stiff breeze, hunching against it as he opened the door, his body too tired to brace against the cold.

The clouds were thickening in the sky outside as he stepped inside, the kitchen, as it ever was, dark and still and silent in the back of the Old House. Remnants of paper were strewn across the table, and mud still cluttered the floor. He didn't have the heart to light up the stove, or the energy to make himself something to eat. Maybe he would just go upstairs and lie down and allow himself to drift past the pain and stiffness in his body into sleep. But as he crossed the kitchen, his foot clicked against something in the floor, sending it spinning with a flicker of light. He followed the light with his eyes and then bent over, the muscles in his back seizing up a second after he did so, making him hiss as he reached for it and straightened back up. It was one of the gaming pieces in the shape of a diamond, and he cupped it in his hand. The length of it was cool and almost weightless, the four long edges more cutting and dense against his flesh. His fingers closed around it and he walked through the kitchen and started down the hall, more purpose surging through him now. He would circumvent Barnabas and take it right back to Vicki. He was going to march right up to Collinwood and knock on the door. He was. . . .

. . . going to keep it.

The thought stopped him up short, just as he reached the front door, just as his hand reached for the knob. The current of air created by his quick walk swooshed coolly around him, like a dash of water bringing him to his senses.

Keep it? Have you lost your mind? If Barnabas were to find out-

Yes, if Barnabas ever discovered that Willie had purposefully kept the gaming piece, that the set Miss Winters possessed was, after all, not intact-

I don't know what he'd do.

No, there was no telling what Barnabas would do, but it was definitely certain that the vampire's punishment would be severe enough to make last night's whipping feel like a peaceful interlude.

So why keep it? Why risk him finding it?

He held up the fist he had clenched around the piece and made himself unclench it, spreading his palm until the diamond lay flat. Even in the dimness of the front hall the mother-of-pearl seemed to wink and glow at him. And the feeling inside of him when he looked at it was almost like the way he'd felt with Josette's ribbon in his hand. The token of Josette's ribbon, already faded to lilac when he'd discovered it, had disintegrated, leaving only the memory of the time when he'd been able to stand between Maggie and danger. When he'd been able to resist Barnabas' spell. The ribbon was long gone, and, seemingly, his courage with it.

He'd been unable to keep the promise that he had made himself the last time Barnabas had bit him. Unable to resist the silver pain and the warm oblivion that followed. He tilted his palm, the folds of his skin moving the shining white shape, and he knew that if he were it keep the piece, he would always have to be on his guard, as he should be. On the alert, not only for Barnabas, but for himself. To be ready for when he found himself sinking back, slipping down in the darkness, on his knees at Barnabas' feet, begging the vampire to take him.

It'll never happen again. Not if I have this.

He shoved his hand into his pocket, feeling the pull of cloth around his still-clenched fist.

Let go of it, Loomis.

It took him a minute, his eyes almost closing, and he found he was sweating with the effort it took, a sheen of heat breaking out on his upper lip and along the back of his neck. But once he were to let go, that would be it. No more thinking only in terms of here and now, no more blind compliance. No more dark embraces followed by warm, mindless sleep. He would have to, from that moment on, keep his face to Barnabas and his back to the wall.

Taking a deep breath, he unclenched his fist, a second passing before the sweat of his hand dried and he could feel the diamond drop away, deep into the folds of his pocket.

He took his hand out of his pocket, and wiped both of his palms on the thighs of his pants.

Then, shaking a little, he opened the door and stepped out onto the wooden porch. Looked at the road, still choked with mud. And turned his face into the wind.

~fin

Master Fic List