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Andy sat there, staring straight into the figure's eyes. The figure tried to break free from Andy's grip, but Andy easily overpowered him, his adrenalin in full effect.

"Let me go!" the figure screamed as he struggled "What the hell is wrong with you?" Andy threw a punch as hard as he could; it knocked the figure out instantly.

A storm was rolling in, Andy could hear thunder in the distance as the rain started to fall. Andy brought the figure into the basement of the house Delores used to occupy. He tied him to a chair under a light and poured a bucket of cold water onto the figure. He came to and immediately tried to free himself.

"Don't bother, you're not going anywhere," said Andy as he pulled up a chair for himself.

"Who the hell are you? What do you think you are doing?" said the figure as he struggled in the ropes. He was a buck, no more than 25; he was tiny compared to Andy. He wore a hoody and had scars on his face. His antlers appeared to have been cut off. Andy grabbed a gun off of the floor next to him.

"What do you need this for?" Andy asked, rotating the gun in his hands.

"For freaks like you," screamed the buck, wriggling in the ropes still. Andy held the gun tightly in his hands and looked at the buck.

"See, I already know why you have it; I already know who you are." The buck studied Andy's face carefully.

"You have the wrong person, I have no idea who you are." Andy lunged towards the buck and put his hands on the back of the chair.

"Two years ago," Andy started, his face close to the buck's, "you tried to mug two guys on Linden Avenue, but it didn't go how you wanted. One of them fought back, so you shot them." The buck swallowed hard as he stared Andy in the eyes. Andy could tell what he said registered in the buck's mind.

Andy pushed the gun into the buck's side. "Why did you do it?" he yelled loud enough that the neighbors could have heard, if there were any. The buck's face went straight again.

"What does it matter any to you?" Andy punched the buck in the face again, this time he was careful not to knock him out. The buck rolled his head back around again; his nose was bleeding now. Andy backed off of him.

Andy sat down on the chair across from the buck and pulled his shirt off; his wound was bleeding again. He tried to reapply the bandage, but it was no use as the stitches had pulled out. The buck looked at Andy's wound.

"Holy shit. You got shot?" Andy paid no attention to the buck. Andy finished tending to his wound and slipped his shirt back on with a groan. Andy felt a rush of emotion overcome him. He didn't know what to do. He felt tears roll onto his face. The buck looked at him then scoffed. Under his breath he muttered to himself.

"First the old lady and now this." Andy froze at this. He turned to the buck.

"What?" Andy rushed over the buck again, gun in hand. "What did you just say?" The buck swallowed again.

"Why do you care?" yelled the buck while trying to free himself again. Andy pushed the gun into the bucks side as hard as he could.

"What old lady?" Andy screamed at the buck.

"Some old lady who lived across from me, she got shot." Andy felt his adrenalin rushing.

"What does she have to do with you?" At this point Andy screamed right into the buck's face. The buck hesitated answering. Andy pushed the muzzle of the gun into the bucks chest, his voice breaking as he yelled. "Do you want to die like Sean?" The buck stared at the gun.

"She kept screaming at me about stealing something of hers." Andy pulled back slightly, but not enough to stop the muzzle of the gun from hurting the buck. "So I decided I really would steal something of hers. I knocked on her door and told her I was there to check her gas. When she let me in I tried to take anything she had that was valuable. When she caught me she called me by my name, I didn't know what to do, I panicked" Andy froze again. He didn't anticipate any of this, he didn't understand how this could be possible. He dropped the gun to the ground and let loose on the buck with both fists, yelling loud enough to cause en echo throughout the empty basement. His punches were for Russel, he thought. They were for Sean.

He finally stopped, exhausted. He slumped down to the ground, sobbing. He sat there for a moment before wiping his face and standing up again. A loud crack of thunder echoed in the distance. Andy looked at the buck; his face was severely bloodied, but he was still alive.

Andy reached behind the buck to look for a wallet. He pulled out a worn leather wallet and took out the driver's license. He finally had a name for the person who caused him so much pain.

"Brandon Levington. 23 years old." Andy paused and compared Brandon's face to his driver's license photo. The picture on the license showed a young man, free of scars; not someone he thought would ever commit murder. Andy looked and Brandon now and wondered what happened. Andy dropped the license and wallet to the ground. He walked over and shook the chair. Brandon turned his head around slowly and tried to focus on Andy. Andy looked at his bloodied face and felt a rush of compassion come over him; how could he feel bad for Brandon, he killed two people. He killed Sean.

Andy sat back down across from Brandon.

"You are going to pay for what you have done, mark my words. Even if it's the last thing I do, you will pay for what you have done." With that statement Brandon seemed to be fully alert again.

Suddenly Andy was startled by the sound of a phone ringing, it was coming from Brandon's pocket. Andy leaned over and pulled it out. The phone said Mom. Andy stopped it from ringing and saw the time, 2AM. He put the phone into his own pocket and pushed Brandon's chair against a wall. Andy then slumped against an opposite wall, keeping a close eye on Brandon. He fell asleep again, exhausted.

Andy is alerted by a faint knocking sound. At first he could barely hear it over the pouring rain. He then realized someone was at the door. He looked at Brandon; he didn't appear to be awake. Andy didn't want to take any chances and tied a towel he found in the basement around Brandon's mouth. Andy made his way up the basement stairs, fighting the pain in his side. He held the gun out as he carefully made his way into the living room. He peered out a window to see who was at the door. He relaxed when he recognized who it was. It was Otis, standing on the stoop as he attempted to avoid getting rained on. Andy wondered how Otis would know to look for him there. Either way, he felt glad to see his face again.

Andy undid the several locks on the door and opened it. Otis didn't seem surprised to see Andy there. Otis looked at Andy.

"Good God, you look terrible. What happened?" Then Otis noticed the gun. He stepped back. "Andy, what happened." Andy saw Otis stare at the gun and put it into his back pocket.

"I haven't killed anyone, if that's what you mean." Otis' stare moved to Andy's face. Otis finally walked in the house, deciding he could trust Andy. Otis looked at the floor and saw the outline and the blood stain.

"This is really it then, where she died?" Otis looked over at Andy, his attention immediately changed to Andy's blood stained shirt. "I told you to be careful with those stitches." Andy looked down at his side, studying his side. They were both alerted to a muffled thump.

"What was that?" Otis asked.

"Nothing," said Andy. Andy knew what it was. There was another thump.

"Sounds like it came from the basement," said Otis as he carefully stepped around the piles to make his way to the kitchen. Andy couldn't let Otis see what he did. "Stop!" Andy yelled loud enough to startle Otis. Otis turned around and stared straight at Andy's face.

"Who do you have down there?" Otis' voice lost its normal playful tone. It was serious this time, unforgiving.

"The solution," said Andy, staring back at Otis.

"Who exactly is the 'solution'?" asked Otis.

Andy lead Otis down to the basement. Otis could tell Andy was in pain from his wound. As they made it to the bottom of the stairs Andy flipped on a light. Otis' eyes locked onto Brandon.

"Who is he, Andy?" Otis asked Andy worriedly. Andy sat down and picked up the driver's license he discarded earlier that morning. He handed the license to Otis. "Brandon Levington, 23. Most people would assume he is just some junkie on the street; I know he is guilty of much more." Otis read the license, confirming what Andy said.

"Are you saying he killed the old lady?" Andy looked at Otis, his look almost pleading.

"He did more than just that." Otis stared at Andy now, waiting for an explanation. "He killed Sean." Otis looked at Andy puzzled now.

"Sean?"

It had been so long since the accident. Andy doesn't know why it ever became the accident. It was never an accident at all.

He never said Sean's name; neither did anyone else.

"I met Sean four years ago," said Andy, sitting down, "he started talking to me at a bar, I just knew he was the one." Otis listened intently to Andy. "I invited him over to my place eventually and we had dinner on my deck; it was one of the dankest days of my life." Andy took a deep breath and started to tell Otis about the day, October 9th. He never told anybody the story, everyone either knew or knew not to ask. Otis was the first. After Andy was done, Otis just stood there; he didn't know what to say.

Andy sat with tears in his eyes.

Their attention was then drawn to a rustling sound. It was Brandon. Otis walked over and ripped the bandana off of Brandon's face. Brandon stared at Andy expressionless. Before Brandon could open his mouth Otis punched Brandon in the side of his face, sending the chair on its side with Brandon in it. Otis towered over the chair, staring at Brandon as though he would kill him right there. Andy never expected something like that from Otis; he never seemed like someone capable of violence. Otis then turned to Andy. Otis could tell Andy saw him differently now.

"Four years in the service, I was in a few fights. They knew I would never mess them up too badly though, as I was the one who had to fix them up afterwards." Otis kicked Brandon, who was still on the ground, and walked over to Andy. He put his hand on Andy's shoulder and kneeled down so he would be level with him.

"I could never imagine going through what you did, Andy. You are amazingly strong for making it this far." Andy looked up at Otis; he could see tears in his eyes. "It's time to make it right though, for Sean." Otis walked over to Brandon and stood the chair back up on it's legs. "Let's take this piece of shit and put him where he belongs."

---

Otis carried a box with him down into the basement; it was a first-aid kit. Brandon looked at Otis as though he was there to help him. Otis noticed.

"Don't think this is for you, all you have are some paper cuts." Otis kneeled down next to Andy, who still sat in his chair. "Take off your shirt, I need to fix those stitches or else they are going to get infected." Andy immediately listened to Otis, he knew he was there to help. Andy winced as Otis took off the old bandages. "It's going to hurt, but you should be good after this." Otis poured alcohol on the wound and Andy growled in pain. Otis started to cut the old stitches out, trying to make it as painless for Andy as possible.

After what seemed like an eternity of pain, Otis was done.

"You should be good now, so long as you don't chase down any more punks." Andy chuckled at this. Otis looked at him with a smile, he's never heard Andy laugh.

Their attention was then drawn to Brandon again, as he groaned and rolled his head. Otis stood up and walked over to Brandon. He pulled a flashlight out of his pocket and checked Brandon's pupils.

"Hmm, he may have a concussion." Andy tried to stand up; Otis rushed over to help him up. They walked over to Brandon and stood on either side of him. Brandon stared up at them.

"Otis... I don't want you to get mixed up in this any more than you already are," Andy said, pulling Brandon's phone out of his pocket. "You didn't do this, you don't deserve to pay for it." Otis put his hand on Andy's as he held the phone.

"You shouldn't have to do this by yourself. You don't have to be alone." Andy looked at Otis. He knew what he had to do.

"Let's do this then," Andy said as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. "Otis, you are going to need to drive into town and get some tape for Brandon and clothes for me; then we can bring him to the police station." Otis pulled his keys out of his pocket.

"I'll be back, then we can finish this." Otis walked up the stairs. Andy heard him shut the door, start his jeep, and drive away. A tear rolled down Andy's face as he pulled Brandon's phone back out of his pocket. What he was doing was for the best.