Michael Falcone sat on his bed tightly gripping a piece of paper. Twisting it over and over again in his hands, he took a deep breath and sighed. With problems of her own, in came Louise in her usual stupor.
“Michael, I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and I know what you’re going to say already, but hear me out–”
“Lou, this isn’t really the time…I got a lot going on right now and I don’t feel much like–”
“Like talking, Michael?” said Louise, “You never feel like doing much of anything anymore! We go for a walk the other day, you barely spit out two words, I say goodnight when we go to bed, I only get a mumble.” She caught sight of the sheet of paper he held in his hand, “What’s that?”
“It’s nothin’. Don’t worry about it,” said Michael elusively.
“Damnit! I’m done with you people hiding everything! What is it? Show me!” shouted Louise.
“You don’t need to know every friggin’ thing that goes on in my life, okay? Just let it go! It’d only piss you off even more!”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Tell me Michael!” shouted Louise as she lunged at her husband, plucking the paper from his hand.
“Don’t read that, Lou, please, don’t,” said Michael nervously.
Louise read the note. A look of shock spread across her mousy features as she glanced from line to line. “Michael, this is my brother’s signature,” said Louise gravely, “And it’s dated yesterday.”
“Michael, what does this mean?” asked Louise, shaking.
“It means,” said Michael wearily, “Steve’s alive, Lou.”
Louise Falcone sank into a chair, unable to believe what she had just heard.
The moonlight filtered ominously through the trees of Burton Heights as Peter Falcone wandered along its well-worn paths. Each step he took seemed to echo in the emptiness of the night and the shadows slashed violently across his face. Above him, the screeching of birds and bats seemed to mock the once-great Peter Falcone. The lines across his face were deep with worry and guilt, and most of all, revenge. As he continued, the night no longer seemed so lonely. A sense of someone watching fell over him as he glanced nervously at his wristwatch. Looking up, a tall, dark figure stood before him.
“Hello, Peter,” said Steven Bains.
“Bains? What the hell are you doing out here?” asked Peter hesitantly.
“I followed you. You shouldn’t be surprised, by now,” said Steven.
“Then what the hell can I do for you? I can’t think of much else I can give you.”
“I just wanted to see how you were doing,” said Steven, mysteriously. Advancing towards Peter, the moonlight revealed his face. His face was fixed in a stoic trance on Peter. “How’s Michael?” The tone in his voice was anything but concerned.
“I hope you know what you’ve done! Do you realize you’ve undone everything I’ve ever put into this family? Do you?” shouted Peter.
Steven Bains cocked his head back and let out a small laugh. “Your family? You’re talking about the pain I’ve caused your family? I let out a little family secret, you managed to wipe me off the face of the earth! My sisters and my mother and father think I’m dead because of you! And I don’t know if you remember my wife, but in case you don’t, she killed herself thinking I was dead!”
“I’m sorry, Steven, but that’s the way this world works,” said Peter flatly.
“Unbelievable. You’re one screwed-up human being. I’ve got all I need to put you and that old hag of yours away for life. Burn in hell.”
With that, Steven Bains vanished into the darkness.