She could find herself, say, in Denmark near the ramparts of her fiancé’s great stone castle, the simple notion of a tragic heroine – let’s say a woman no longer quite so young who truly ought to have been married by now but her fiancé is still taken with his prepositions of youth and passion, in the boughs of a groaning willow tree on a cool autumn’s day when the wind is whistling through her hair and hiding everything from her vision in a sea of maize and ivory, hands dirt-stained in a way that suggests she is not used to the mundanity of peasantry but indulges in it as any high-born child feels obligated to (isn't she the same as the commoners? what sets them apart other than her rings and her obedient attendants and her satin bedsheets and the crown to be set upon her beloved's dark hair? doesn't she deserve this little bit of freedom?) and she thinks: isn't it odd that she can't hear the Church bells ringing from here, but why should she mind it - she's never been particularly faithful, no hardly devout, simply effortlessly good and pure (she knows it is true for they've always told her so, ever since childhood she's been good Ophelia, pure Ophelia, sweet Ophelia, young Ophelia - she is no longer as young as she was, dainty wrists and ankles starting to thicken and sag with the promise of age), let's say she's missing home - that there were always more trees at her estate - and that crouching in the crook of the willow's rough embrace of bark and woodchips perhaps she feels that she is younger, that she can be good Ophelia, pure Ophelia, sweet Ophelia, young Ophelia for a little bit longer, just as long as her feet don't touch stone and she drinks only from the river; she considers how life were to be if she became a nymph, apart from all this business of royalty and political hubub - she does not doubt that more than a few of her fiancé’s future advisors have daggers hidden well in the folds and layers of their lavish doublets - he has waited so long to wed her, he has no heir to avenge him if for any reason those bearded men drunk on decades worth of wine from his father's table decide that he is not fit to be king, and she cannot imagine being spared as Gertrude was: she is not cunning as she was, she has only the mere clarity of mind from being left alone with nothing but her hair and her hands for most of her life because women are nothing more than lips and wombs and her fiancé spends all his time sailing away from his duty and away from Denmark and away from her because what has love ever been good for when you never outgrew your adolescence? - testosterone has always been more trouble than it's worth, she thinks, and fantasises about playing chess with Gertude (can she truly call Gertrude her mother-in-law? it's something she's been deliberating over for far too long - after all, this engagement has been a rather drawn-out affair), the two of them perched in the boughs of this same willow, black and white checkered board balanced precariously on a protruding knot and Ophelia already knows that she will lose - Gertrude has been playing games with higher stakes for years; Ophelia is just a girl in the face of Gertrude's wizened veneer, a pawn to her queen, checkmate is what the elder will say, with no real malice or passion in the even tones of her voice because they both knew it would never end any differently, so Ophelia bows her head and smiles slightly because she is only good Ophelia, pure Ophelia, sweet Ophelia, young Ophelia - smart Ophelia has never been one of her titles (and neither has dumb Ophelia so she counts her lucky stars and hopes not to see them wink out one by one) - so here sits our Ophelia in the boughs of the very same willow that will one day kill her - (she will be called mad Ophelia, pathetic Ophelia, and women not so young will look at the portrait a man paints of her corpse and wonder if she is freer as she floats down the stream) - here we watch our dirt-soled Ophelia, free-haired Ophelia, gazing up at a fortress built of stone and waiting for her tragedy to begin.

“Remember, let me do the talking.” The horse hooves kicked up dust as the elfish ranger hitched his ride to the post.

“Okay.” The large shadow moved as a giant beast of a humanoid tied his own yak up next to the smaller pony. For its part the yak stood more patiently next to his equine companion.

Divaine led the way into the small tavern, ignoring the constant stares around them but keeping an eye peeled for anything more sinister than a whisper. His companion followed mutely, eyes staying on the ground and hands held at his sides.

The small tavern hushed as Divaine entered. Not because of him, he knew; but he ignored it and strode up towards the bar. In smaller spaces his friend unfortunately came across as even larger than usual.

“Excuse me, I’d like to rent a stable for the night?” Divaine raised his voice to the squat human behind the counter, whose gaze of course fell just behind his right shoulder.

“I only rent to humans.” Was the gruff reply.

Divaine smiled sweetly, his pointed ears barely moving an inch. “We’re not asking for a room, kind sir. Just a stable will do for us and our animals.” He held up a small pouch of coins, jingling it encouragingly.

The human continued to frown. “What is that?” He pointed, still not looking at Divaine.

“My friend? He’s actually a --”

“Not him - what’s he carrying?”

“Ah...that...” Divaine rubbed his neck. “That would be a scarecrow, of sorts...” It had been a scarecrow, until they had repurposed it with thicker stuffing and a heavy ballast that thudded softly as his companion moved. Since they couldn’t manage to tie it to the yak he carried it with him, never leaving it behind. Normally it wasn’t what folks fixated on when they looked at his friend.

“Why do you need a scarecrow?” The logic of this gruff person seemed inescapable.

“I would be happy to tell you, if you’d rent us that stable.” Divaine smiled again, his elfish charm sinking through every syllable like a hypnotic spell.

Leery, the tavern keep nodded. “Fine. Stable’s around the back, you can use the empty stall on the end. You clean it before and after.” He stared again at the scarecrow. “Is it supposed to be a human?”

“Absolutely not, sir. It’s quite obviously a demon.” Divaine pointed at the very dented sheep horns nailed to the makeshift head. “Training, for demon hunters such as ourselves.” He put his coins on the counter, their glint only slightly dimmed with bits of blood.

Another skeptical glare. ”You hunt demons?” This time his eyes did focus on Divaine, sizing up his willowy frame with obvious disdain.

Another patented elfish smile. “It’s a team sport. Thank you for the lodgings.” Pulling his friend along, he turned and exited. The other patrons watched them go, muttering behind their backs. Divaine stayed focused as he led them outside.

Returning to their animals, they untied them and led them around the back of the building. Divaine could pull his hood up to hide his ears, but in his experience it helped to have an extra race for the humans to hate besides his companion. Elves weren’t known for their ferocity; however, they weren’t known for foolishness either. If he could balance out their combined stereotypes - or at least confuse folks as to whether they should feel fear or contempt - it usually bought them time to excuse themselves before things got out of hand.

As they reached the stable he felt a slight tug on his sleeve. “Divaine? Ka’l talk now?”

Checking to see they hadn’t been followed, he beamed. “Of course Ka’l! What is it?”

“Divaine didn’t eat.” Ka’l’s frown, while terrifying, held only concern.

“That’s alright, we’ve got some leftover provisions still. I’ll eat once we’ve cleaned up this place a bit.” The stall they’d been assigned had been left unkempt for a while. The smell assailed his keen elvish senses, and he imagined his friend felt the same. “Hand me a pitchfork would you? Let’s muck this out.”

They worked together quietly, not saying a word as they cleared away the mess and raked in fresh hay. The space couldn’t fit both their mounts, so Ka’l spoke softly to his yak as he left it tied outside. The furry creature was better suited to sleeping in the cold air anyway. They removed its pack, taking out some rations for supper, and turned in for the night.

Divaine tried to keep their horse close to the wall, but it didn’t leave much space for either of them. He considered leaving Ka’l here to sleep outside in a tree somewhere. Yet his back couldn’t handle another night among branches, and he knew he had to rest before their next stop. “Ka’l? Would you be alright if I slept on top of you again?”

“Okay.” Ka’l laid down obediently, propping his head up on a small stack of hay as he brushed stray needles off his tunic. In the corner he had propped up his scarecrow, leaving it against the railing like some dark, dream guardian. “Sorry. Ka’l is lumpy.”

Divaine just smiled. “Your lumps keep us alive, friend. Never apologize for them.”

Crawling like a cat, he laid gently on top of his friend’s massive frame, tucking his stray hair behind his pointed ears so as not to tickle Ka’ls chin. While Ka’l’s body mass didn’t leave much for comfort, the steady breathing and heartbeat under Divaine’s ears drowned out the world. He’d sleep like a baby.

If only my mother knew I’d find such comfort in the arms of an orc. He smiled to himself, thinking about how different his life had become since leaving home.

“Goodnight, Divaine.” Ka’l rumbled from beneath him.

“Goodnight, Ka’l.” He replied, closing his eyes and drifting into sweet oblivion.

---

Divaine awoke on a warm layer of straw, his body pillow somehow gone without him noticing. How does he do that? He wondered, stretching his arms out and arching his back. He’d managed to get some solid rest, despite their tight quarters. He wondered how Ka’l had fared.

Wandering outside, he checked on their yak to make sure it had survived the night without hassle. Looking about, he spied a field off to the east and noted the large footprints in the dirt. With a yawn he followed them to find his friend.

THUMP

The training dummy teetered dangerously underneath another volley of blows, it’s thick padding absorbing the power of two fists pummeling with barely restrained ferocity. Ka’l exhaled on each hit, his grunts filling the morning air with a quiet symphony of exertion. Divaine never tired of watching him, his muscles glistening in the morning dew and sweat. Ka’l’s natural ability was a thing of wonder.

He’d been at it at least an hour, Divaine could tell. While he never knew exactly how long it took, he knew it varied each day. Some mornings Ka’l would spend ages exerting himself before coming back for breakfast.

“You are truly a force of nature, my friend.” Divaine remarked as he leaned against a fence post, watching his friend work.

Grunting, Ka’l stopped and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Divaine want Ka’l wait in stable?”

“It might be safer.” Divaine admitted grudgingly. “But we can wait a bit. The market won’t open for another hour or so.”

With a nod, Ka’l turned back to his imaginary foe, its blank face still holding a dent from the previous round. “Ka’l finish, go back. Water that way.” He pointed. Divaine smiled. His orcish friend knew his habits well.

“A bath does sound lovely.” With a wave to his friend, he wandered off in search of the spring.

----

Divaine’s baths never seemed long enough. As the water soothed his weary muscles, he thought back on their last battle and the impending trudge ahead. Demon hunting might be profitable, but it wasn’t for the faint of heart. Moreover the gold seemed barely worth it, not when most towns refused them service regardless of how much they paid. His market run might go more smoothly solo, with his hair tied up and his ears less obvious; but when his partner had to spend his days hiding in a stable he felt his blood boil at the injustice of the world.

Secretly, Divaine had been putting aside gold towards buying them a small piece of land somewhere on the outskirts of the main kingdoms. Somewhere quiet, neutral. He had no desire to return to his people, and after so long away he doubted Ka’l would be welcome with his. Yet he wanted to create a haven for the both of them, where they could relax and maybe even grow old without throwing themselves in harm’s way for a bit of hay to sleep on and cold rations out of a bag. He felt pretty sure Ka’l could learn to plow and he had no trouble hunting if their farm took awhile to flourish.

Seeing the sun rising overhead, he sighed and exited the stream, shaking himself dry before putting on his dusty leather armor. As he tied up his hair - braiding it carefully over both ears - he thought back to Ka’l, and wondered if he might skip his morning bath again. He wouldn’t blame him, yet he would also appreciate not having such a strong odor to sleep on again should they decide to spend another night in the stables.

As he headed back to town, he noticed the field where Ka’l had trained stood empty - except for one thing.

The scarecrow.

It stood in the sunlight, it’s horns glistening against its rawhide skin.

Frowning, Divaine looked back down the trail he had followed, searching for any sign of Ka’l. Would he have left his scarecrow out in the open to take a bath? That wasn’t like him. Ka’l took his scarecrow everywhere. It was an integral part of him, and his daily routine. Leaving it to be possibly stolen or vandalized wasn’t his style.

A sudden fear grew in Divaine’s stomach and he found himself rushing back to town.

Racing into the stables, he found the stall empty save for their mount. “Ka’l?” he called, his voice rising in fear. No reply.

He turned on his heel and ran for the tavern next. Hardly noticing the murmurs as he burst through the doors, he spied the keep from the previous night. “Have you seen my companion?”

The keep’s gaze remained steady. “If you mean your large friend, no. It’d be hard to miss him.”

Divaine’s mind raced and he scanned the crowd. None of the faces offered any clues, or hints at what might have transpired.

“I need to rent the stable for another night.”

With a shrug, the tavern keep patted his counter. “Same price then. Pay up first.”

Throwing his coin on the wooden bar, he added, “If you see my friend, tell him to wait for me there.” Knowing it was futile, he rushed back outside towards the market.

As he searched, hood pulled up, he saw nothing. No one even close to the height he was looking for. He wouldn’t have come here without me. He knows better. What bothered Divaine most was knowing the scarecrow had been left behind. Even more than Divaine, that target was his friend’s best companion. He couldn’t imagine him letting it sit alone like that. I should go back for it and take it to the stable. If I can even carry it. Frowning, he doubled back towards the stables.

As he untied their yak and led it towards the field, he tried to think of all the places an orc could possibly hide. Where could he have gone that no one would notice? The quiet around the marketplace only made him more worried. What would they be doing to him that they would have led him out of town?

It took the latter half the morning, but he managed to haul the scarecrow back to the stables after tying it to the yak and dragging it through the dirt. The ballast held, even though the dummy looked a bit dusty propped against the stall. Sweating, tired, and starving the elf ranger looked at his poor horse and tried to think up a plan. Coming up with nothing, he sank into the hay and rested instead.

After eating the last of their rations, he tried searching the small town again. Walking down every street, questioning ladies out front sweeping their stoops, brought him no luck. As the sun set his worries grew, and yet he had no idea where his friend could have gone. Maybe he’ll come back if he knows where I am. Exhausted, he returned to the stable and spent a lonely night on the cold floor.

---

Two days passed, and still no sign of his companion anywhere in the town. Divaine spent each day searching the entire town as well as the surrounding fields and nearby forest, looking everywhere. Each day ended in failure, with him returning to the stable to sleep fitfully next to an abandoned demonic scarecrow.

He had asked around, yet no one seemed to have noticed an orc warrior disappearing from their midst. It felt almost like a dream; like Ka’l had never existed in the first place. The quietness of the townsfolk made Divaine mad. How could they have not noticed his companion? Their ignorance stung more than their initial fear at his appearance.

Finally, after going a whole day without food, Divaine stopped at a stall to pick up some bread and venison. His stomach turned but not from hunger; as one of the best trackers of his kind he should have found something by now.

“He’ll crack today.”

Divaine’s ears twitched as they picked up the stray comment from a cloaked stranger

walking past. Trying to act calm, he turned to watch which way the man went.

“It’s been what, two days? Nobody lasts that long. Whatever spell or drug he’s under, it’ll end tonight I’ll bet.”

Two days…

Paying quickly, he took his food and pulled his hood up tightly, slinking into step behind his target. He tried hard not to look suspicious as he slowly followed a few feet behind, listening intently.

“Feels good to get back at ’em, ya know? Think they’re so tough. Like I’ve always said, they’re only tough in a horde. One-on-one, you can take ’em easy.”

“But you don’t hit him one-on-one? You always bring the rest of us. You’ve got Theo and Maddox guarding him even now.”

A heavy grunt. “That’s only so no idiot wanders in and gets himself killed! No telling what that monster’s capable of.”

“Right.” The pair turned around a corner, exiting the center of the town and following a dirt trail out towards the farm houses surrounding it. As the crowds fell away Divaine struggled to stay incognito, memorizing the voices and faces ahead of him.

As they approached a dilapidated old house, the two men slowed.

“Hey, I thought you said Theo and Maddox were guarding today?” the larger, bossier of the two men frowned in concern.

“I left them here this morning. Maybe they’re inside?” They both moved towards a pair of cellar doors on the side of the house. Divaine noticed how the doors were slightly ajar...and his breath caught.

Shit. It’s been two days.

“THEO!!”

The two men rushed down and Divaine gave up on secrecy. Throwing his cloak back he raced after them, hearing the screams before he could get within eyesight. When he finally reached the top of the short stairwell the sunlight beamed down on a scene of absolute carnage.

Two bodies - likely once Theo and Maddox - lay crushed into fleshy walking mats over a dirt floor painted in blood. Above them, their companions flailed as huge fists beat them into a similar human pulp, the sickening crunch of breaking bone adding a counterpoint to the sounds of terror. Divaine couldn’t have saved them if he wanted to, now. He stilled at the top of the steps.

The screams died finally, and after a few moments only faint panting rose from the cellar depths. A hulking shadow, obscured in the shadow of the ceiling overhead, its eyes seemingly glowing in the dark. They showed no signs of recognition or reason; only an intense, animal ferocity.

Divaine had pulled his bow from his back without even thinking, blinking at the arrow now lined up in front of him. He stared back at the glow in the abyss, his mind racing. All the towns they’d passed over to avoid this kind of treatment. All the nights spent in stables or back rooms or cellars, without the comfort of a warm tankard of ale and a friendly conversation. He had held onto this weight for so long - in one breath, he could end it. The townsfolk would revere him. No one would fault him for felling a monster.

--

*The human story which frames this fantasy ends quite sadly - I haven’t the heart to pen it that way. Hence we end here, with Divaine’s moment of conflict.

Zanthe Goldburg had bean casing the Bruin’s house for some time now.

She knew that the father, Arthur, went to work at the packing plant every weekday at 4 pm. He didn’t return until well into the midnight hour. She tried hard to find out when exactly, but she managed to fall asleep every time. She woke up at dawn only to see that his large bike was once again parked in its rightful spot on the side of the little house’s porch (right next to a medium-sized bike and a small tricycle).

She knew that the medium-sized bike belonged to the mother. She wasn’t exactly sure, but she could have sworn she heard someone call her ‘Bernadette’ on more than one occasion. Bernadette was mainly a stay-at-home mom to Teddy; the owner of the tricycle. No mistake about his name. She’d heard both his parents scream it in anger so many times that she knew the child had to be something else. Some kind of hard-headed four-year-old who still thought he was in his terrible twos.

Zanthe shuddered at the thought of him, but then remembered why she was here. All three bikes were gone, and by observing the Bruins for three weeks, she knew that late Sunday morning was their designated time to go on a family ride through the nearby park. This ride usually took about two hours... three if Teddy refused to leave... fifteen minutes more if he saw an ice cream truck and decided to throw a tantrum until his parents bought him a frozen treat. On the other hand, the ride could get cut short due to Teddy intentionally peeing on himself (which happened quite often) but she hoped that didn’t happen today. The whole operation was risky, and she debated whether or not to wait until nightfall when the Bruins had evening service at the local church, but Jack had a surprise for her tonight and she didn't want to miss it.

She liked to wait outside for about thirty-three minutes to make sure the family hadn’t forgotten anything they needed to come back for, but then, she fell asleep. She shouldn’t have stayed up all last night partying hard with Jack, but it was Saturday after all. She couldn’t refuse her boyfriend’s invitation to the hottest rave in town. Finally waking up, she looked at her watch and saw that she only had about an hour left to get in and get out.

Zanthe crept up to the house. It was quaint and surrounded by many trees. All to itself almost, she had no worries that a neighbor might spy her. Drawing a bobby pin from her hair, a blonde curl fell into her face. She tucked it behind her ear as she plunged the pin into the lock. At the force of this, the door swung open.

“They forgot to lock,” she giggled, “How dumb.”

Inside, she smelled breakfast in the kitchen. She saw a large plate of bacon, eggs and pancakes, a medium bowl of cereal, and a small cup of oatmeal. Her stomach growled, remembering the last thing she ate was mere scraps of her dinner before claiming she didn’t feel so well. She asked to ‘go to bed early’ so that she could sneak out of her window and meet up with Jack.

“It’s never good to skip breakfast,” she said to herself, “Who on earth would prepare this good food and not eat it? Teddy must have been cutting up and made everyone completely forget about it.”

She headed first to the large plate. She knew it was Arthur’s. He was tall and burly, and she could tell he ate like a man. Today, she would eat like a man, she thought, as she took the fork and shoved a large batch of scrambled eggs into her mouth.

Suddenly, she involuntarily spewed it out all over the table.

“Dang, that’s hot,” she panted, “How long did he have it cooking? Haven’t they already been gone for over thirty minutes?”

She shook her head and went over to the untouched bowl of cereal. Just looking at it made her shiver (not to mention it was soggy). She brought the spoon of mushy flakes up to her mouth and nearly gagged. Throwing down the spoon, she looked at Teddy’s little cup of oatmeal. She didn’t usually care for oatmeal, but she couldn’t deny her stomach growls. She grabbed the little baby spoon and devoured the food until it was all gone.

“What did Bernadette spike that stuff with?” she asked, licking her lips, “I can’t believe it was actually good.”

Feeling satisfied, Zanthe took a deep breath and decided to get to the work at hand.

“I know these guys are rich,” she sighed, “Where the heck do they keep their safe?”

She headed to the living room where she began carefully inspecting every corner of the wall. She lifted picture frames and slid side tables.

“There may be a hatch in the floor...” she pondered as she looked around. She lifted the rug and found nothing. The only other things that could hide such a hatch were the three chairs. There was a rather large recliner perched directly in front of the television (so that Arthur could watch his sports, she mused), there was a medium-sized armchair in the corner of the room (where Bernadette must sit and knit), and there was a fun little rocking chair that sat between the two (the only one who would enjoy such a chair was apparently Teddy). She first tried hard to push the large recliner out of its spot. She managed to move it but spied no trapdoor in the floorboards beneath it. Pushing the recliner back into place, she breathed heavily and sat down in it to rest a bit. To her surprise, the cushion was hard as a rock.

“What the-” she said, quickly jumping out of it.

She decided not to rest but instead heaved to move the little armchair as quickly as she could. No hatch there either. She sighed, pushed it back into place, and collapsed into it. Unlike the recliner, this chair was actually soft. In fact, a bit TOO soft. She sunk deep down into it and nearly fell asleep.

“Wake up, girl!” she screamed, slapping herself in the face, “You have a job to do!”

Leaping up, she ran over to the last chair. She figured it, being so small, had nothing to hide. But, as she slid it over with ease, she revealed a little trapdoor.

"Bingo," she whispered in victory.

She opened the hatch and spotted the small safe. Using the master code-cracking skills she'd learned from syndicated crime dramas, she busted the safe in no time. Beaming with glee, she sat down in Teddy's little chair and rocked back and forth as she counted stacks of her newfound riches. There were about three bands of solid hundred-dollar bills.

"Eight thousand five hundred, eight thousand six hundred, eight thousand seven hundred..." she laughed as she rocked faster and harder. All of a sudden, the chair collapsed under her weight, sending dollar bills flying through the air.

She gathered herself off of the floor and rushed to collect them all, stuffing some into her purse, some into her pockets, and some into her bosom (just because).

Zanthe could have left right then, but NO. She was a greedy little girl. She figured that Bernadette had some jewelry upstairs or something, so she headed to the second floor.

There, she found a room with three beds.

"Oof. What a complicated relationship," she cringed.

She checked around the largest bed (presumably Arthur's) and found it was very flat but also very long.

"This man is a giant," she slurred, "What? Does he play basketball AND football?"

She looked under the covers and found nothing but magazines and old food wrappers.

"No wonder they sleep in separate beds," she snorted, "Arthur is a complete slob."

She went over to the medium-sized bed. It was neat for the most part, but the covers were extremely lumpy. She belly-flopped onto it and pulled open the side-table drawer. At first, it felt comfy as she searched through the jewelry box, but soon, the lumps began prodding into her tummy and causing her chest to ache.

"Oh hecky naw," she grunted, rolling off the bed, "How can anyone even sleep in that? These people are super weirdos."

She took the jewelry box out of the drawer and sat at the edge of Teddy's small bed. As she inspected the fine metals and precious stones, she felt the soft warmth of the silken sheets calling her name. After a few yawns, she was snuggly tucked in and sound asleep.

Little did she know that her worst fear had come to pass. Little Teddy had wet himself, and the Bruins were on their way up the walk.

"You are in for a big punishment you little rat," Arthur grumbled as the little boy wriggled and squiggled in his arms.

"Honey, you left the door open?" Bernadette asked with concern.

"I must have forgotten due to this little scoundrel running outside in his underwear," Arthur frowned.

"Oh yes. That," Bernadette recalled.

The family walked into the kitchen and found their food was tampered with.

"Honey, our breakfast!" Bernadette gasped, "We totally forgot to eat it."

"Looks like something got a hold to it," Arthur sneered, still struggling to hold tight to slippery little Teddy.

"PUT ME DOWN!" he cried as he finally pulled free and dropped to the floor. Teddy scrambled to his feet and began running around the dining table. Then, he stopped and looked into his empty oatmeal cup. "I WANT OATMEAL NOW!" he shouted, "WHERE IT GO?"

"I don't know, Teddy, but I'll make you some more," Bernadette said, brushing away her suspicion, "In the meantime, go to the bathroom and change your clothes this instant!"

Teddy smiled and ran. As he passed through the living room, he tripped over the pieces of his broken rocking chair.

As Arthur and Bernadette looked around investigating the kitchen, they heard their son cry out. Rushing to his aid, they saw their chairs out of place, and the floor hatch opened.

"Babe, we've been robbed," Arthur said with an ounce of edge in his voice.

Bernadette held Teddy and tried to console him. He was crying incessantly, and no one could tell if it was because he fell or because his chair was broken. Arthur looked around and covered Teddy's mouth, causing the four-year-old to instantly cease his tantrum.

"Do you hear that?" he breathed, "Someone's still in here. They're upstairs."

Arthur unmounted his rifle from the mantle and headed up the steps. Bernadette followed closely behind her husband and held the suddenly quiet Teddy's head tightly to her chest.

As the family creaked up the staircase, Zanthe began to awaken. She thought she was dreaming of Teddy crying, but she realized it was real. Now that it was silent, she was scared. She knew they were sneaking up the stairs. She could hear their steps. Breathing hard, she jumped out of Teddy's bed and looked around. The money she tucked away was becoming untucked and flying all over the room. Frankly, she didn't care about it anymore. She ran to the window and threw open the pane. Looking down, she remembered that she had been afraid of heights ever since her cousin dared her to go on that ride at the fair when they were kids. Nevertheless, the thought of the Bruins finding her was even scarier, so she closed her eyes and jumped.

Twelve minutes later, she cracked open her eyes to see the Bruins and the police standing over her as she lied in the grass. Jack was going to have to postpone that surprize. Zanthe would be sleeping behind bars tonight.