William stood against the grates of the cell, his forehead pressed firmly between the bars, looking at Michael in disbelief. Michael looked back up at him, a shadow from a nearby column covering half of his face. The sound of wind rode the silence from behind the cell window. It was a brisk breeze that seemed to warm up not too long after dispersing into the big holding area. Michael began to speak, crossing one leg over the other and breathing deeply before doing so.

"You were so close to being free, William. But here you are, back in another tiny room with nobody."

William's eyebrows furled and his excited grin became a confused, drooping frown.

"That's not true. I won't be in here long. And I have friends now. You and Angela. Why would you say something like that?" Said William.

He noticed Michael swishing something around in his mouth like a piece of old food he'd just discovered in his teeth. His eyes that were once so friendly had now become vacant of life.

"I thought you'd make it further than you did. I had high hopes for you, Will. I really did. But I guess sometimes we take risks, and the outcome isn't in our favor."

"In your favor? High hopes? What the fuck are you talking about, Michael?" Said William, his body went tense and his grip on the bars made his fingers red and the top of his hands white as snow.

"Boy's become fathers and girls become mothers. That's how things should work out. But now and then, there are a few apples that are born sour. You were meant to be a father, William, but you were born sour."

William backed away and he felt his soul being crushed into a thousand slivers like a dried maple leaf in the hands of a devil. His back hit the side of the cot and he began to rub the sides of his forehead while each consecutive breath shallowed. Michael stood up from the chair and William saw that his tongue was working something around behind his cheeks.

"I was born sour too. Kept in a small fucking room for twenty years until I got out. Kind of like you did. I guess they must have respected my resilience because next thing you know, they send me to Lavaca, in charge of everything. Now wasn't that just so nice of them? They deserve a fucking cookie."

"They? Who's they?" William asked as sweat began to form on his trembling body.

"They are the ones who are going to find us both. Won't be long before we're either dead or worse. You ever heard of loose ends?"

Michael walked closer to the cell door and the shadow dissipated from his face, revealing the eyes of a man who had nothing more to give to the world.

"These people can help us, Michael. Whatever it is that you or I have done, it doesn't matter."

"Bullshit," said Michael, "the things we did in there will always matter. But I brought you something that can help put an end to all of it."

He stuck his fingers into his mouth and pulled out two capsules. He raised them into the light, presenting them to William with a mad grin.

"Take it." He said.

William grabbed one and observed it closely as Michael returned the other into his mouth.

"What's this for?" Asked William.

Boone was outside the door looking at her watch moving over the three-minute mark. She kept thinking about the man she let inside.

"A hunter with a burn. A hunter with a burn. A hunter with a-"

It was then that something began to crank the wheel in her mind. She'd been so distracted lately. The fire and William. The FBI were around every corner, followed closely by another young officer asking stupid questions. She wanted to ask Dave about a few things before he left.

"Can I see your hunting license?"

How about his car? She would need to check that. Oh, there would need to be extensive photographs of the burns on his waist and the injury on his neck. Not to mention the obvious polygraph test to schedule in. Retracing his steps to check for accuracy in his story would also be included in the coming days, but only if she could get the warrant issued as soon as possible. The case needed witnesses and suspects and the more she thought about it the more of a suspect Dave became.

"You set it on fire, didn't you?" William asked.

"Oh hell, there's plenty more of them out there. One little piece of shit building burning to the ground isn't going to do a damn thing."

"Are you saying there's more of those places out there? Michael we-"

"There's no use worrying about it, Will. Once you take a bite of that you won't have to worry about anything anymore."

Boone remembered a few years prior, almost to the date, when a man was arrested in a nearby county with charges of kidnapping, attempted murder, and first-degree murder. He also had a burn on his body, but it was on his right hand. It was hard to forget, too, as nearly all his fingers were just about blown to shreds. Turned out, he was part of some sex trafficking ring and tried to blow the whole thing up. Good thing, since almost sixty young women and men were found chained to the walls and close to dying. He went by some awful nickname, too. What was it again? She looked back down at her watch as the fourth minute passed.

"I didn't come this far to do something like that, Michael. You think, after all that time in there, that I would end it all now? You've got to be kidding me." Said William

"Do you know what it's like," said Michael as his eyes watered and his hands shot up to the cell door with a violent clasp, "to want to do something good one minute and then all of a sudden you want to chop someone's fucking head off? I don't want those thoughts. I wish they never put them in me."

His face flushed red, and the veins began to pop from his head. He took the fingers of his right hand, pressed them together, and began to hit himself in the middle of his forehead over and over. Saliva oozed out from between his teeth and shot out with each heavy breath. William looked at the man, face firm and his teeth were gritted against the pain that radiated out from the person he thought had been a friend. Michael stopped his frantic ways and backed away, looking at the ground like someone who had completely broken away from his own being.

"William. Those people turned me into something I can't bear. I destroy people for a living and half the time, I enjoy it. They breed people for torture and pain and there I am, running the whole thing to stay alive; to feel alive. I'm sick, William, and my five minutes are up."

Officer Boone tried to recall the nickname. She patted her leg as she looked up at a layer of dust that had formed along the top edge of the sheriff's wall plaque.

"Mr... What was it? Sage? No. Stan? Scrooge?"

Her watch buzzed on her wrist from the five-minute mark having passed. But the name felt like it was on the tip of her tongue.

"Skin? Mr. Skin? No, not it..."

She pressed the button on the watch and the buzzing stopped. She turned around to the door and began to twist the handle when she heard William yelling.

"Angela!"

She ran inside with her hand placed on her weapon. She could see William's fingers poking out of his cell and the man she let in was on the chair, slouched back.

"William, are you hurt?" She asked.

"No, it's Michael!" He said.

"Michael? Wasn't it David?" She thought.

Boone called out to the man who was lifeless and limp in the chair but there was no response. Her hand covered his neck as she checked for a pulse that wasn't there. She lifted her receiver and called for help. A small amount of foam had begun to rise out of his mouth and drip down along his cheeks. She knew he was dead. As she tried to lift his body and lower it to the ground for CPR, she once again saw the scratch mark on his neck. It was such an odd moment for realization but, nonetheless, the nickname finally came to her like a lightning bolt hitting its target.

"Mr. Scratch."