One last time

The snow fell gently, and the wind, judging by the flakes, did not seem intent on reaching the bone. Yet everything around was white —endlessly, blindingly white. Frost patterns and the fog of his own breath blurred the window, making it impossible for Tommy to see clearly. He left the room at once to check another window. Then another. Then a third. The irritation — born of poor visibility and the remnants of his simmering anger — buzzed in his skull. But a loud creak cut through it, and Tommy turned sharply toward the sound, just in time to see a maid pulling open the heavy front door. Without hesitation, he strode toward it, nudged the girl aside, and stepped out into the open, ignoring her startled cries and protests. The cold outside struck harder than he had expected. His yellowed shirt fluttered like a paper in the wind, and the muscles beneath his skin turned heavy, as if trying to shield the warm blood from the frost. A sharp hiss slipped from his lips, but he kept moving forward. “Maybe a last wish, at least?” The voice was young. A boy’s voice, really — barely adult. Thomas could make out four figures ahead, though the rise of a hill obscured most of them. One figure, however, was unmistakably lower than the others. On their knees. “You don’t drink, do you, mate?” came a deep voice—rougher, uglier even than Dr. Waters’. Tommy already knew what was happening. Still, he walked on. “I didn’t mean a drink!” The boy’s voice trembled, faltered — yet tried to sound light, careless. The brave, foolish mask so many young men wear in the face of death. Thomas slowed slightly, choosing a vantage point from which he could watch unnoticed. Not an easy task. But he managed — well enough. Truth be told, he didn’t much care whether they noticed him or not. Three dark, seasoned figures circled their prey like wolves. And the prey — a white-haired boy, so pale he nearly dissolved into the winter around him, thin and feeble in a dark blue coat — held Thomas’s attention at once. His short hair curled in careless waves. The checkered pattern of his coat was broken in places by small tears. Pale skin flushed with bruises along his cheekbone and beneath his lip. Glasses in a thick white frame, miraculously intact, hung from one ear. White as an angel. His breath came in ragged bursts, drifting from his lips like from a hunted fox driven to exhaustion. “Maybe… a last word?..” The cheer had faded now — whether because the lad could no longer keep it up, or because his breathing had slipped beyond his control. “You’ve said enough for two lifetimes, Smarty,” said the man before him, drawing a revolver in one sharp, confident motion and pressing the barrel to his forehead. “Want to close your eyes?” offered the second, also armed, also ready. Both stood at a distance, certain they would not miss. Or would not miss twice. The third stood opposite the boy, like a silent second in a duel, between the other two. Tommy saw only his back. Shelby’s fingers tightened slightly. The marks and prints in the snow belonged only to this group. Everywhere else, the white lay untouched, smooth and undisturbed. A canvas sack lay near the boy. Somewhere, perhaps far off, there must have been a car — but none was visible. What if… “No,” the albino answered calmly, flatly, though his whole body trembled like a thin branch. The bullets — they were right there. Polly could have been wrong. Or Michael could have twisted her words. To step into a hopeless fight, like in the old days. To cross over together with this lad. That wouldn’t be a bad ending. Not a lonely one too. The boy’s eyelids were half-lowered, his gaze fixed on the barrel. “No. I don’t want to close my eyes. I’ll see darkness soon enough — I want to look at the light while I—”

BANG.

Tommy flinched. The gun shattered — along with the tips of the shooter’s fingers. “FUCKING HELL!!” The hoarse voice broke into a scream so raw it lost all trace of humanity. “What the—” The second man hesitated — just a moment — long enough. The third drew his gun, and a quieter bang dropped him where he stood, a bloody hole blooming at his temple. The albino laughed. There was no joy in it. No triumph. Only hysteria, barely held in check. He rose on unsteady legs, swaying as though the wind itself might knock him back down. He adjusted his glasses with a small, habitual gesture. “Thank you, mate. Thank you,” he said, painful laughter breaking through his words before slowly subsiding. He staggered toward his rescuer — his accomplice, it seemed. The third calmly began tucking the gun into his coat as the lad reached out his hand for shaking. “Well done,” he said. Then, suddenly, his head turned toward Thomas. “And who’s that?” Storm-blue eyes narrowed behind slightly fogged glass. It might have looked like a trick — if the boy hadn’t genuinely spotted Tommy standing there, half-dressed and motionless. The third turned as well. But the trick lay elsewhere. The moment the third’s attention shifted, the albino moved — fast, precise. He sharply seized the hand that still held the gun, pressed it to the man’s jaw, and pulled the trigger. Another bang. More blood on the snow. On the lad’s face. Red on white. The body slackened; the lad caught it, his own body shuddering violently. “Sorry. Sorry… I’m sorry…” His voice had gone hoarse, weak — but it still carried enough for Tommy to hear. Shelby did not move. The boy let go. The body dropped. He did not look at it again. His attention was already fixed on Thomas. Still swaying, he made his way toward him. Thomas stood still. His body seemed to have forgotten the cold altogether — he did not even shiver. Only the redness creeping along his neck and the goosebumps at his skin betrayed it. “Bloody hell,” he simply said as the boy came closer. Now he could see him properly. Too delicate, almost… “Got a cigarette?” The doctor had strictly forbidden smoking and drinking. Another reason to hate the man. Another reason for the restless edge in his mood. “I don’t smoke,” the lad replied with a friendly smile. Fuck. Not a shred of mercy left in this bloody world. “Then don’t drag it out.” The lad tilted his head, puzzled. “I’m the last witness, aren’t I?” Tommy raised a brow slightly, hinting the obvious. “True enough! In that case, I suggest to drink something hot.” The albino gestured lightly, inviting him along. “Tea, perhaps. To steady the nerves after all that bloodbath.” Tom’s brows rose — and stayed there. The boy stepped past him, stopping just ahead. “Come on. The cold is hellish!” He stood squarely in the path to the mansion. “Interesting…” Tommy muttered, but followed. So, the lad belonged to Waters’ entourage then. And Tommy felt he had seen him before. Briefly. He frowned. “My name is James Holloway, by the way.” The albino now walked beside him, steadier than before. “But for you — just Jim,” he added seriously. Whether out of respect… Or because he spoke to Thomas fucking Shelby. It didn’t soften Tommy in the slightest. “James Holloway,” Thomas repeated, tasting the name, weighing it, committing it to memory. His gaze moved over the boy again, like a hand tracing intricate carving. Too slender a neck. Skin too smooth. “I apologise for that scene, Mr. Shelby,” the lad said, studying him in return, making no effort to hide that he knew exactly who Tommy was. “Indeed, you’re out here like this because of me, aren’t you? The doc will kill me...” At the edge of Thomas’s mind lingered the thought of turning away — running straight into the cold, freezing to death out of spite, or at least finding the car that had brought James and his “mates” here. But stronger still was the understanding that what the doctor refused to say, this boy might. He was talkative enough, giving all the pleasantries. One thing, however, was certain — they would not let him die so easily. And the doctor’s voice, cutting through the crunch of snow beneath their feet, made that unmistakably clear. “Useless, brainless boy!!” The doctor’s voice rose just enough to overpower the rest. His face was tight, a muscle drawn taut, shy away from righteous anger. And he was not addressing Thomas, giving that his gaze burned through the lenses at James Holloway. James smiled faintly, resigned and ready to take the scolding. “You think I don’t have enough problems?!” The doctor approached, lowering his voice, though it remained sharp — more strict than furious. “My bad, sir!” James began brightly, then faltered. He pulled a dirty handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the dried blood from his face. “Complicated circumstances.” “I’ll fix your insolent face. Move.” The doctor gave him a light smack to the back of the neck, then turned to Thomas — and his expression changed entirely. Stone. Complete. Impenetrable. Thomas had never seen it like that. Not even when he had tried to provoke him on purpose. “Inside,” Waters said shortly, his tone colder than surrounding snow. Thomas obviously wasn’t scared — but he noticed. The cold inside receded slowly — only now did he realize the mansion was not as warm as it could be. He rubbed his shoulders briskly as the doctor led them into a small room Thomas already knew. A square table. Chairs. A writing desk. Medical instruments on iron cabinets. Not quite a sitting room, not quite an examination room — something in between. James dropped into a chair with careless ease. Cups of hot tea already waited on the patterned table. Only now did his breathing begin to steady, though his fogged glasses hid his eyes completely. Thomas didn’t get the chance to sit — Waters turned him sharply, his grey eyes hardening, examining him with cold precision. Thomas exhaled, allowing it. “Tea?” Holloway offered modestly. “Later,” the doctor cut him off. He turned abruptly, crossed to the desk, snatched up a thermometer with a rough flick of his hand – one more giveaway of his frustration - and held it out to Tommy. “Take it.” “So, the next one goes up the rectum…” the albino muttered darkly. Tom’s lips twitched — almost a smile — as he cast him a brief, meaningful look. The lad didn’t react, simply warming his hands on the cup. He knew who Shelby was — and wasn’t particularly bothered by it. And he didn’t seem like a fool. Not after what had just happened outside. “Alright, I get it! We’ll take it step by step,” Holloway declared. He rose awkwardly, carefully lifting his cup and saucer, and hurried out through the open door. A maid slipped past him — the same one Tommy had pushed aside earlier. She seemed to be crying.