It was a cold and harsh night, blood was spilling into the white snow. Greasy Eugene dragged his limp leg along the desolate road. His car had broken down a mile or two down the road — not the most ideal situation. What’s worse is that he had to leave a bag of the take behind. But he was not going to stop now. Not like this. The weight of the gun in his hand wouldn’t let him.

An odd car or truck would pass him by, their headlights cutting through the gloom of thr night. He didn’t care. He was going to make it out alive. Blood dripped steadily from his lame leg, staining the snow with every labored breath he took.The icy wind bit at his face, and his boots crunched against the snow as if mocking his every step. But, the rage in him wouldn’t let go of his heart. That bastard. He was going to pay. Once he recovers, he’d make sure of it.

Suddenly, he broke into a fit of coughing. He stopped and took a moment to let it all out. A drop of blood fell into the white snow. Then, he stumbled, crashing into the snow as his leg buckled beneath him. The cold seeped through his thick winter clothes. The bag pinned him down, its weight crushing what little strength he had left.

He groaned, barely a whisper. “Must... keep... moving...”

No one was going to mourn this crazy son of a bitch. Some great bank robber he was, Eugene thought to himself. It’s ridiculous! Dying here, in the snow, wasn’t how his story was supposed to end. Was this it for Greasy Eugene?

Through the haze of snow and pain, a faint light pierced the darkness ahead.

Muffled steps squeaked through the cold winds.

Eugene summoned every ounce of strength left in him to speak, his voice barely a whisper.

"Help me."

-BREAK-

The wind howled outside, rattling the windows in my room. I sat at my desk, idly scrolling through the computer, trying to ignore the chaos echoing from downstairs. Screams and laughter from the kids reverberated through the old walls, making me grateful it wasn’t my turn to watch them today. After all, it was a holiday.

Amy appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, her silhouette sharp against the dim light from the hallway. Her hair was ruffled, and her expression was as sharp as the cold outside.

“Did you buy some food for the kids?” she asked, her voice tinged with frustration.

Even then, I looked up from my chair, meeting her glare with a lazy gaze. I wasn’t in the mood to feed her anger. “I was going to head out, but the snowstorm’s too harsh,” I replied evenly, leaning back in my chair.

Amy raised an eyebrow. “So, we’re going to starve.”

“What do you want me to do, Amy? Heck, if the plow comes early—”

“No.” She cut me off, grabbing her coat—and then my ear.

“Ow!” I yelped, stumbling out of my chair. “Are you crazy?”

Amy’s eyes narrowed. “You’re stuck here with me, Louis. It’s a miracle this broken home’s still standing. The kids are our responsibility, remember?”

“I remember,” I muttered, rubbing my ear, but she wasn’t listening. She shoved me toward the closet.

“Pick up your winter clothes,” She snapped. ”Meet me downstairs.”

“Alright, alright...” I sighed, rubbing my eyes and fixing my glasses. Amy was always the rough one—passionate, stubborn, and relentless. I grabbed my coat and gloves, muttering under my breath, “She’s going to be the death of me someday.”

“Who’s going to be the death of you, Louis?”

A timid voice cut through the quiet, making me yelp and scramble back against the wall. Standing in the doorway was little Fran, the smallest of the kids in the house. Her wide eyes were full of concern, and her tiny hands clutched the edge of her oversized sweater.

"Fran!" I exhaled, trying to steady my heartbeat. "You scared me. What are you doing sneaking up on people like that?"

She tilted her head, her brow furrowed. “You said someone was going to be the death of you.

I froze, fumbling for a response. “Uh, hey there… You didn’t hear that, did you?”

Fran ignored my question, crawling closer on her hands and knees. Her mouth twitched, and her big, solemn eyes seemed to plead with me: Don’t go.

"Fran, you don’t have to worry about that," I said quickly, standing and brushing myself off. "I’ll be heading out soon. If you need anything, ask Hugo."

“But Hugo’s a prick,” she replied, blunt as a hammer.

I blinked, caught off guard. “Where’d you hear that word, Fran?”

"From you," she said, her small shoulders shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Ouch.

"Well, don’t say it," I scolded gently. "It’s not a nice word."

Before she could respond, Amy’s sharp voice cut through the air like a whip.

"Louis! Get down here right this instant!"

Fran’s eyes darted toward the door, then back to me. She reached out, tugging on the hem of my coat. “Do you have to go?” she whispered.

I sighed, forcing a smile. “It’ll be okay, Fran. I’ll be back before you know it.”

I walked downstairs letting out an audible yawn. My coat was quite comfy, but it was getting a lot tighter. I spotted Amy standing by the doorway, spinning her keys around skillfully. When she saw me coming down, she rolled her eyes. She’s so considerate.

“You ready?” She said, opening the door. A gust of chilling wind swiftly flew into our faces.

“Of course, Amy.” I sighed.

-BREAK-

The nearest shop was in the next town over — Some big shot from the city built that rectangle, now half the town works there. Amy had put some hours working there, when I was still working hard in uni. When she called me for the first time, she complained about that A-grade asshole of a boss. Her words, not mine. I’d heard that he was still working there. Not that it mattered.

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

Music could be heard playing throughout the shop. A man was singing in falsetto, reaching his high. It wasn’t bad, but I thought it could be better. I remember back when Nan still ran the orphanage, she used to play Clair de Lune all the time.

I miss her. Amy really tried to step up after she passed.

You know what.

It’s strange.

It's strange to dredge up those memories while staring at a slab of smoked ham. Smoked ham didn’t deserve to hear my shitty thoughts. Smoked ham deserves to be eaten with eggs. I didn’t know whether or not it was the lights doing these things to me. It could be. I just haven’t got the slightest idea.

Amy snapped her fingers in front of my face, jolting me out of my thoughts.

“Quit daydreaming!” she barked, balancing an armful of groceries. “Look for something the kids would actually like.”

“I am!” I retorted, waving the smoked ham dramatically in front of her.

“That’s the most expensive ham in the store, you idiot,” she shot back, shaking her head. “We don’t have the money for nice things, Louis. Go find something else.”

“We could ask mo—”

“No.” Her tone was sharp, final.

I squinted my eyes, “Then, let’s get a cheaper ham.”

“Why do you even want a ham? Why not bacon?”

“Ham’s delicious!”

“It’s expensive!”

I groaned, leaning against the shopping cart as Amy turned away. The kids deserve something better. Amy used to think so, too. What changed?

People don’t seem to notice the little things anymore. Quietly, I slipped a cheaper slab of ham into the cart. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a small victory. That’ll show her.

We rolled into another aisle to pick up some other things that Amy wanted — essentials, boring stuff really. After a while, we managed to scrape together the things we needed. But, when we rolled into the check-out…

“Louis?”

“Yeah?”

She held up the ham like it was a crime scene. “What’s this?”

My mind scrambled. Do I own up? Play dumb? “Uh... a surprise?”

Great…

Her eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of something else—amusement, maybe? “A surprise we can’t afford.”

I grinned weakly. “The kids will love it, though.”

She sighed, setting the ham down on the conveyor belt with a heavy thud. “You’re impossible.”

-BREAK -

It was a quiet way back home.

I didn’t want to bug Amy.

She seemed like she was going to explode.

I twiddled my fingers, trying to stave off that feeling of boredom. It still felt quite cold in Amy’s car, despite the heat. And even then my thoughts kept coming back to this question. Why wasn’t I quite sure of what to think? It was barely half past eight and I still had some things to do. But… I had been gone for quite some time. I’d only just returned to this place five days ago.

I was tired. Maybe that was it.

My tongue felt sore and dry. I think I wanted to say something.

But, I didn’t know what to say.

But Amy did.

“Look, Louis.” She began with a calm voice. The car rumbled on, the engine like a low hum beneath the tension. “I don’t think it’s fair that you get to stay in your room that much. I know that you’re only here for the holidays, but...”

I could feel the weight of her eyes on me, but I couldn’t meet her gaze. I was too busy staring out the window, pretending I hadn’t heard her words. I wasn’t ready for this.

She took a breath, and I noticed her hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white against the leather. The creaking sound echoed in the silence, louder than it should’ve been.

“But, I really want you to think for once.” She sighed deeply, as she began to slouch further into her seat. I was afraid that she’d step harder on the pedal. But, she didn’t.

“Think about it from my point of view. Do you have any idea what’s been like for the past two years?”

“I might’ve had an idea.” I said, blind. “But I don’t think it’s something to worry about.”

It was at this moment that Amy turned her head towards me. I never noticed it before — the deep bags in her eyes. They were like shadows, weighing her down. She looked way older than she really was. It’s shocking.

And she was the younger twin between the two of us.

I had always thought of her as the strong one, the one who could handle everything. But seeing the exhaustion in her face, something shifted in me. I felt guilty, suddenly aware of how little I’d really been paying attention. She wasn’t just dealing with the kids and everything else—weighed down by responsibilities I had mostly ignored.

But, I was away to study. I think I promised to get a job to support her efforts.

How wrong I was to think about it like that.

“It’s not fair.” She whimpered, shaking her head. “It really isn’t fair.”

“It’s not fair? ”I frowned, momentarily stunned.

I wanted to say something, but the words felt stuck. Maybe she was right—maybe…

And now, all she had was the weight of everything falling on her shoulders.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and I could feel the cold air seep in from the window, despite the heat.

“I can’t do it all, Louis. You can’t just... disappear and expect everything to stay the same.” she finally said, the words coming out more softly now, but no less heavy. “I need you here. I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when you’re barely here at all.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat heavier than it should’ve been. I wanted to respond, to tell her I didn’t know what she wanted from me, but I couldn’t.

I just couldn’t commit to that.

I just looked down in shame.

Shame.

Did I ever think this hard before? Why does it feel all so familiar?

“Oh my god.” Amy’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and urgent.

She slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt.

I snapped my head toward her, my heart racing. Ahead, a car crashed into one of the trees, its front crumpled beyond recognition. I recognized the car as one of those vintage muscle cars — most likely a car from the 60s. But, that was not all. There was a trail of blood on the snow.

Without a word, we both stepped out of the car, the engine still running, the sound of it lingering in the cold air. Amy was shaken.

“What the hell…?” I muttered under my breath.

The lights stretched our shadows. It felt like we were walking into a crime scene.

The car had a bunch of holes tattered into the exterior. They were probably bullet holes. I didn’t dare myself into touching them. I’d probably get my hand stuck. The back of the car, on the other hand, wasn’t as mangled. There were a bunch of guns in the back and what looked like a crowbar and a duffle bag.

I looked towards the trail. It stretched ahead, leading further down the road.

It dawned on me.

“Amy, I think the driver lived.” I said, my voice low, uncertain.

“What!” She shot a disbelieving look at the wreck. “There’s no way that someone could survive that.”

“See the blood trail?” I pointed towards the trail.

Amy’s eyes followed the trail, disbelief shifting to unease. “You mean… the driver got out of the car?”

I nodded slowly. “It’s the only explanation.”

We headed back into the car and drove forwards.

My heart was beating rapidly. An accident? There’s no way that this could happen. The roads were salted. Amy drove slowly, looking out for anything out of the ordinary. Yet here we were, staring at something neither of us could have anticipated.

“Awful.” I muttered.

“I know.” Amy replied.

We slowed as we approached a dark figure lying motionless on the ground. The moment stretched out. Was it a corpse? My pulse quickened as we stopped the car and stepped out — both of us staring at the man, still and face-down in the snow.

Then, a faint sound broke the silence—weak, barely audible.

“Help me,” the man groaned.

Amy’s eyes snapped wide, panic rising. “Call an ambulance!” she shouted, her hands immediately going into her pockets.

But then, the man’s voice, strained but insistent, cut through the air.

“No! Don’t call an ambulance.”

The words felt wrong. My breath caught in my throat.

“Take me to your home, or at least somewhere far from the cops!”

Everything in me froze. There was something strange about the way he said it—like he knew what was coming, like he was running from something worse than the blood soaking into the snow.

I glanced at Amy, her face pale in the dim light. That’s when I saw it—the man was gripping a gun tightly in his hand, the metal gleaming under the weak streetlight.

I didn’t hesitate.

“Mister,” I said, my voice firm despite the unease in my chest. “We’ll take you to our home.”

Before I could fully process the weight of what I’d just agreed to, I felt a sharp jab in my side. It was a warning.