Stepping out onto the street, he nodded approvingly upon spotting the minivan in which he had evidently been transported- will do for now but will need to get rid of it soon. Returning to the bearded man, he struggled with aversion—touching the still-warm corpse was both disgusting and frightening. Moe located the keys and wallet, recoiling with a shudder before rushing outside to vomit.

With his mouth filled with snow to alleviate the pain in his battered lips and quench his thirst, he straightened up and glared disdainfully at the modest hunting lodge. Surprise, they said. I will give you one. He discovered a can of gas in the trunk, sprinkling it sparingly on the dry wood structure, anticipating its eager and effortless ignition.

One final trial.

As cortisol subsided and breathing normalized, the first chuckle emerged. Breaking off a lower, dry branch from a nearby tree, Moe also doused it with gasoline. Holding his breath, he lit it, this time without flinching, and hurled it into the house. Clenching his fists, he watched the flames cheerfully at work, licking the walls greedily. The ghosts were bidding him farewell, leaving him for good to preserve the strength of the tiny, resilient Miny.

“Miny,” Moe murmured tenderly in his thoughts, turning toward the minivan. “Well, hello, Miny, your dad already loves you very much. Sorry for putting you at risk.”

Inside the van, there were chips, water, and a warm can of Coke — Moe thanked the heavens for this gift, refreshed on the go, steering confidently onto the highway with a steady hand. He rolled into the unknown, expecting it to end with the first sign. After a mile, he realized he wasn't too far from LA; they had only taken him sixty miles from the outskirts of the city. Reaching a gas station, he bought himself a cheap burner phone and dialed a number he had memorized.

“Hi, it's Moe.”

“Hey, Moe. Where are you?” The voice from the past sounded warm, and Moe smiled, his battered lips painfully parted. “I'm near Concord. I need some help. And I'm ready to come back.”

“Good,” the voice breathed a sigh of relief. “Text me the exact location, and they'll pick you up. Glad you finally made up your mind, Moe.”

***

“Well, Moe, I sympathize that you've been through a rough patch, but on the bright side, we can reopen the case now," Daniel looked sympathetically, but with a readable question, and Moe shook his head negatively.

“Thank you, I've had enough. I want out, like my family, from whom the Simmonses must have withheld information about the risk. I'm not up for a vendetta right now, you know," Moe stroked his stomach gently. “And moving from place to place, constantly changing identities and documents--no, I don't want that kind of life for Miny. Let him have stability and peace of mind under my real name. Einer," Moe hesitated for a moment at the familiar name but continued confidently. “Einer is determined enough to dig up dirt and destroy opponents. I prefer to leave him to wallow in the shit alone. Or maybe he'll be destroyed," Moe shrugged dismissively. “I don't really give a damn.”

“It's a shame,” Daniel said, clearly dejected, but he added understandingly, “It's okay. You've had more than enough of the hassle, though you could have signed the papers and gotten the insurance money sooner. You can't imagine what it cost me to keep the insurance company from redistributing your money for lack of a beneficiary.”

“And I appreciate it a lot!” Moe grinned broadly, his tongue tracing over his newly set teeth.

“Yeah, no shit,” Daniel said cheerfully, pushing a folder across the table to him. “It's got everything you'll need for the first time, until you get the hang of things- bank account numbers, I've separated the payments into different ones just in case, emergency contacts—learn them like you learned mine, and-" Daniel grew serious. “The papers are in Harper Lee's name. These are for emergency, don't use them in your normal life, Moe.”

"To Kill a Mockingbird?" Moe chuckled. “You're kidding, right? And why would I need documents in another name when I can use my own documents now? The witness protection program is no longer valid as the case was closed, Daniel.”

“Things can change- I might be retired by then, and you might find yourself in trouble again – trouble seems to have a way of finding you, Moe. I hope now that you're not alone, you'll steer clear of those dark alleys," Daniel cast a meaningful glance at Moe's stomach, prompting Moe to instinctively cover it in embarrassment.

“You know, I was messed up, really messed up. I couldn't find peace to sleep comfortably, and guilt kept me living in...” Moe paused. “Well, let's just say, in ascetic conditions. That was the only way to avoid nightmares. I couldn't bring myself to accept the insurance money either, as it felt like I'd be exploiting the deaths of my relatives.”

“Mm-hmm,” Daniel raised an eyebrow mockingly, intentionally steering clear of the sensitive topic and keeping the conversation light. “Ascetic, huh?” he added, using the soft euphemism for streets. “And what's changed?”

“This is what changed,” Mo gestured to his stomach once more. “Miny made me seek what was best for him, and I couldn't raise a child on the streets, so I decided to let go of the past.”

“Has the past let go of you?” Daniel sighed. “Speaking of Simmons, if you resurface with your real last name, Moe, he'll track you down sooner or later. He's repeatedly asked the FBI to establish your whereabouts.”

“That's not unexpected," Moe grimaced. “Well, there's a way to ensure I stay off the radar, right, Daniel? You know, play with the data.”

“I've already committed malfeasance by concealing a murder and providing you with documents under Harper Lee's name. Don't push it by exploiting my goodwill towards you," Daniel scowled, stepping closer, and Moe, contrite, nodded quickly. “You had the opportunity to pick a different first and last name, but you opted for your own.”

“Thanks, Daniel, I really appreciate it,” Moe leaned over, placing his hand over Daniel's, and stroked gently. “If it weren't for you, I might have completely gone under these years. I adore you!”

“Oh, come on, enough with the flattery,” Daniel smiled, taking his hand. “When are you leaving?”

“On Friday,” Moe straightened up. “I want to live in Madrid for a while, and then, when Miny is born and grows up a bit, we'll head to Singapore, so he knows where his grandfathers and uncle worked before...” Moe caught his breath. “Before they were gone.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Well, that's fine, you'll be ok, Moe, you'll definitely be ok,” Daniel stood up first. “It's a shame, of course, that you're leaving so far and for so long. I got used to keeping an eye on you. But maybe it's for the best—information about you won't surface so quickly because you'll become a non-resident. And Simmons won't catch up with you anytime soon.”

“Why are you bringing him up, Daniel! Don't beat around the bush, just spit it out,” Moe crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his hip against the table.

“Read the news,” Daniel said vaguely. “A month ago, when you reentered the system, there was a news report about Einar Simmons being hospitalized with severe burns. Quite a coincidence, don't you think? Your fire and his burns, and the exact circumstances of how he got those burns remain unknown; he hasn't disclosed them.”

“I don’t see the connection; maybe it was an accident set up by his enemies,” Moe responded with irritation. “I don't want to dwell on him; that asshole left me for dead.”

“Don't stress; you shouldn't in your condition. If you don't want to talk about him, that's fine, though I would appreciate it if you, as a relative of the deceased, would join us in the investigation. However, you entered the protection program back then, and he refused to cooperate, evidently obtaining information from the FBI through his sources, thus limiting our flexibility,” Daniel signaled, opening the door. “Come on, Moe Hayes, it's time for you to prepare for your new life.”

Moe bid farewell to Daniel, put on his sunglasses, wound his scarf in voluminous layers, obscuring the lower half of his face, and empathized with public figures- no popularity is worth the freedom of movement. He was still in the same city as Einer, and there was no disowning his connection to Einer, making him of potential interest to the paparazzi. Despite that single photograph only revealing his profile, and Moe's hope that he wouldn't be recognized as Einar Simmons's enigmatic partner, he wasn't willing to take any risks with Miny's safety.”

Moe walked into a coffee shop, placed his order, and found a secluded spot behind a small palm tree, removing his glasses and unwrapping his scarf as the indoor warmth enveloped him. After wolfing down a healthy green salad followed by a less healthy but delicious sandwich, and consuming half of his decaf, he gave in to the temptation of going online to search for information about Einer. An internet search yielded a comprehensive list of news articles, both recent and older, and Moe hesitated before clicking on the latest one, claiming that Einer had acquired a bioengineering company. The accompanying photo displayed Einer unscathed, sporting a coy smile and coolly looking into the camera, leaving Moe puzzled—what was Daniel talking about regarding severe burns?

Moe clicked on the next link- Einer was walking out of the Mayo Clinic building, his leather gloved hand shielded from the camera flashes, half his face covered by a huge bandage, and his eyes, changed from their usual expression, looked haggard and tired. Moe dropped the phone with a sudden startle, picked it up again, swallowed a nervous lump, and clicked through the news feed more vigorously, realizing that in the first article the reporter had used an old photo of Einer before the burns. Finding a few more pictures of Einer with a bandage on his face, Moe put the phone aside and rubbed his hands together, the cold chill creeping into him, even though the coffee shop was warm.

Did Einar really get his burns there, in Concord? And how did he end up there, anyway? Thoughts tangled again, causing anxiety, and in frustration, Moe spat — why the hell did he even bother looking for Simmons' photos? What difference does it make where he got burned, what he bought, or who he got engaged to — let him roll down his beaten path, while Moe needs to think about Miny.

"I'm sorry, little one, but I’ll craft a beautiful story for you about your hero father who died in a war zone, and you'll never know that the real father left your papa to die," Moe finished the last of his coffee and stood up — it was time to take a nap; the fourth month of pregnancy desperately called for daytime sleep, and Moe obediently followed suit.

In the rented apartment, he arranged the groceries he had bought on the way in the refrigerator, undressed, proudly examining the slight protrusion of his usually sunken belly — it looked funny for now, as if someone had attached a bump to a pencil. However, Moe anticipated how the belly would stretch forward and widen, proclaiming to the world that Moe hadn't just vulgarly gained weight but was expecting a baby. Moe glanced at the clock, pulled out a colorful pill organizer from his bag, and swallowed with a serious, almost triumphant expression on his face, the vitamins and supplements prescribed by his omegaologist — he still felt embarrassed about poisoning Miny with suppressants in the first months.

With a light heart, he drew the curtains, preventing the sun from waking him up, got under the blanket, and half-closed his eyes — if Miny wanted him to sleep, he would sleep. And what a joy it was to sleep without nightmares! In a minute, he was already breathing steadily, sinking into sweet slumber.

He woke up content, listened to his stomach — it responded with a growl, and Moe got up, stretching, glad that there was no need to rush to earn his daily bread. He put on a robe and headed to the kitchen — to prepare food for himself and Miny. He boiled pasta, dressed it with pesto and olive oil, threw a steak on the pan, and broccoli with asparagus in a pot, dancing in place because of hunger — he wanted to eat even more than before. The feeling of hunger was rarely alleviated, perhaps only when drowsiness overcame his body.

He set the coffee table in front of the TV to enjoy his meal while watching a movie — a small quiet joy that had disappeared over the years in the back alleys and had returned again. For a moment, memories unexpectedly flashed of how he and Manny used to eat pizza while watching Netflix, and his heart tightened — the young heir was undoubtedly an asshole, no doubt about it, but still so lonely and lost, just like Moe himself during the long years of wandering.

Or did he become an asshole because of his loneliness — Moe pondered this thought as he poured boiling water over grapes, transferred them to a salad bowl, and walked back to his couch nest.

Unlike Einer, he felt sorry for Manny, and Moe sincerely wished for Manny to find a good person who would give him warmth. He forced himself to think about something bright and positive — his Miny needed positive emotions, fueled by dopamine and serotonin.

Enough. He is no longer Manny's companion; Manny has already grown up and can take care of himself quite well, unless he falls back into depressive denial of reality.

But the little one, growing in his belly, surviving despite the overwhelming dose of suppressants, stress, adrenaline-cortisol horror, needs all his attention and love.

It's time to learn to love yourself, not to blame yourself for past mistakes, for that fatal one when, having fallen head over heels in love with the fatally handsome Leonardo Santori, who was playing a double game, he demanded that his parents and brother fly from their foreign laboratories to their urgent engagement, dictating a specific day and rejecting compromises.

Stomping his foot petulantly like a child, who was cherished by the older members of the family. Similar to Manny - Moe smiled wistfully, making a comparison. Now that the memory no longer held terror, his empathy for Manny became more evident - he attempted to embrace his past self, feeling frustrated when seeing his own image in the younger Simmons.

He felt a connection to Einer, partly recognizing in him Miny, his elder brother, and partly projecting his father’s traits onto him.

Eynard Hayes, Minnie Hayes, Miny Hayes, your son and brother, Moe Hayes, got back the family name to pass it to your grandson and nephew, his already dearly beloved son, and gibe him all the accepting, nurturing love in which he once basked himself.

Eenie, Minnie, Miny, Moe stood as a joyous, laughter-filled family until their lives were abruptly stopped.

Eenie - Einer, was written off, Minnie - Manny, set free to sail into the ocean of life, but with warm memories, Miny – given by chance by Einer, who wasn't even aware of his generous gift, will stay with Moe, ensuring that both bring happiness to each other.

The strange coincidence of names, the strange intertwining of their family tragedies, the strange ruthless logic of Einer's plot - there were too many oddities to fill his head with and disturb his child.

Moe tossed grapes into his mouth, smiling; a beautiful new life was now commencing, free from worries.

And he turned on Jarmusch's "Coffee and Cigarettes" - just what he needed to distract himself from life's mysteries.