December nights, colder than snow. Wandering the streets had Jeremiah taken for even then he knew no fortitude would keep him seclusive, safe. The soft crackle following his steps, tracing with a precision too honed to be human and a desire too wretched to be the devil's. The soft crackle so hollow enough to be bone and deep enough to resonate the branches in the rain. The ground had vanished from his own sight as the shadows enclosed around him. Two lights within the darkness of the storm, beneath that which had come for him so long then. The soft crackle of splintering bone as they too enclosed around him. The drops of rain the echoing of a revolver that had once been fired in October. The one regret he would never grow to overcome as he faced a vengeance some would call just and other cruel. He had been haunted too far now. Jeremiah had known then that he was theirs as he had been from the start the night of October with his Revolver.