#(hector and fernald due to appearing one [1] time)

[afterthegreatunknown]

Randomity: Handkerchief, Story-Telling, and Bootleg Turn: Not In that Order

To copy-paste most of what I wrote in my author note of Chapter 13 on AO3: This chapter has implied racism, implied period-typical racism (late 1970s/early 1980s period because I headcanon it so), and bullying (which is related to the former two). No slurs are said, but are alluded too. It's in the final section of the chapter, as Widdershins recalls his childhood, Pre-VFD.

“I think we should just go on ahead with the plan,” says Hector, tapping his finger on the hood of Rocher’s Madden impatiently. “Not only are Bernstein and your stepson running late for whatever reason, but Ella Jane is as well. She been running late for an hour and a half. The former I can understand. They must have gotten into a run-in with Alps. But not Ella Jane.”

“I think you should have more faith in Ella Jane, Hector,” says Widdershins, putting the last of the two suitcases inside the trunk. “Isn’t that right, Rocher?”

“Oh, yes,” answers Rocher softly, gripping the metal briefcase in her right hand. “The reason for Ella Jane’s delay is due to what she, Bernstein, and I discussed beforehand.”

Hector says nothing as he stops his tapping, narrowing his eyes at the metal briefcase. No doubt he’s wondering what’s the content inside. Even Widdershins has to admit he’s curious of its contents. Rocher has been carrying it tightly since nearly everyone left the row house; Ella Jane stayed behind for unknown reasons as mentioned by Rocher.

“Are you sure you don’t want to put that in the trunk?” asks Widdershins to Rocher, hands on the trunk door, ready to shut it close at any given time.

Rocher shakes her head. “If you’re thinking it’s holding something suspicious, it’s not. Well, nothing suspicious that would get us all arrested. I would rather have it within my sight. What’s inside the briefcase is important.”

“How important it is to you that you’ll not rather have it in the trunk?” asks Hector.

“Important to where she shouldn’t answer that question,” answers a familiar voice; her voice overpowers the sound of a running engine. “At least not now.”

Widdershins slams the trunk door close, and turns towards the direction of the voice. There in the distance is Ella Jane, exiting the front passenger seat of Bernstein’s retro van. Ella Jane looks similar to Rocher in appearance now. Except for the green bag hanging on Ella Jane’s shoulder, both women of same height are wearing the same orange cardigans, grey V-neck shirts, and red and black plaid pants. Ella Jane even dyed her black hair to match Rocher’s.

As Ella Jane approaches them, the differences make themselves known. Ella Jane has slightly shaper jawline and cheekbones than Rocher’s. And Rocher’s eyes are brown, while Ella Jane’s are green. Most importantly, Ella Jane’s very curvy eyebrows are still in its natural color of black. It’s curvy eyebrows that has Widdershins thinking much of childhood today.

“That explains the hold-up,” says Hector. “The plan is to mislead Alps. You’re the red herring in Bernstein’s van, while Heng drives the real Rocher in the Madden.”

“Correct, except for one detail,” answers Ella Jane. She then places a hand on Widdershins’ shoulder. “I’m going to be the red herring in the Madden.”

“You’re what.” Hector says it outright, not as a question.

“You heard me.” Ella Jane turns her attention to Widdershins now. “Bernstein will be the one driving Rocher —as well as Jules and you— in his van until we reach the abandoned Lacuna Hotel. There you’ll take over as discussed in our barter, while Bernstein drives me back so I can return with the mini-van, the triplets, and your stepdaughter.”

“I don’t like this plan,” says Hector. “What if Alps chases after you and my associate in Rocher’s Madden, instead of Bernstein’s van? I don’t want to sound rude, but—”

“Bernstein’s tin can van doesn’t look like it can withhold a car chase?” interrupts Fernald, sticking his head from back passenger seat window. “That’s the point!”

 “V never allows people drive her Madden without her in it, but she made the sole exception for Heng,” calls out Bernstein from the driver seat. “And don’t call my van a tin can, Jules.”

“Despite the fact that it is?” asks Fernald.

“Yes.”

“Alps knows I hate riding in my friend’s van,” says Rocher, walking towards Hector. “Elle Jane figured there’s a higher chance of Alps chasing my Madden, and took the risk of disguising herself as me to make that chance greater.”

“Well…” Hector briefly bites his thumb, and stares at Widdershins. “Are you okay with this?”

“Aye,” answers Widdershins. “No need to think this over. You know my philosophy, after all.”

---

“I didn’t think Alps would be chasing the Madden like a mad man!” shouts Widdershins. “Aye! I guess that’s what happens when one drives an automatic, while one drives a manual car!”

Widdershins presses down on the clutch, and moves the shift stick to a higher gear. As he makes a rather sharp right turn, Widdershins does a side glance at Ella Jane. Ella Jane is holding her right hand on the grab handle, while some of her long, dyed brownish-red hair flying out from the front passenger seat of the Madden. Ella Jane is burrowing her eyebrows.

“I didn’t think about the possibility Alps would drive his automatic,” says Ella Jane bitterly. “It may lack the speed at times, but control is much easier.”

After making the sharp right turn, Widdershins once again presses down on the clutch, and shifts to the last highest gear the Madden can provide. For a short time, this change allows the Madden to get some distance away from Alps. However, Alps eventually starts to catch up.

“Shit.” Ella Jane grips on the grab handle tighter. “At this rate, the only way we can avoid Alps is if we ignore the Lacuna completely, and find an alternate route after turning left.”

Widdershins keeps quiet as he watches a group of construction workers pouring out onto the sidewalk. They’re discussing something—probably whatever inside the nearby giant warehouse.

Widdershins continues to drive as fast as he could on the highest gear. From the corner of his eyes, he sees what’s inside the giant warehouse: a decently size semi-trailer truck. Decently size to be able to fit inside the warehouse, as well as to block up the road. In fact, the group of construction works went to their own truck, and start pulling out bright orange signs.

“I think we can avoid that option, Ella Jane! Aye! Keep your grip on the grab handle!”

“What do you mean by that?”

Widdershins passes by the construction workers. From the both the rearview mirror and driver side mirror, he sees they’re trying to figure out the placement of the signs. Also from both mirrors, is Alps gaining speed, getting yell at by the workers. One of them even flip the bird.

“Heng, you got to start preparing to change gears to make a left!”

Widdershins does as Ella Jane says. He presses down on the clutch once again, and goes to a lower gear. However, he doesn’t prepare to make a left turn. Instead, he repeats the process as fast as he could, going to another low gear, still driving straight down the lane they’re in.

“Heng! What the hell are you doing?! Are you trying to make us crash!?”

From the mirrors, the bright orange signs are now almost properly in place. Widdershins once more puts his foot down on the clutch, and goes one more down, to second gear.

“Trust me on this.”

Widdershins soon quickly turns the Madden, right into the opposite lane. In a very control skid, the Madden enters the opposite lane, completely turn around, and enters a complete stop.

“Did you just do a—”

“Bootleg turn? Aye.”

Widdershins quickly sets his foot on the gas pedal, and drives back as fast as possible on second gear. From the both mirrors, he can see Alps being force to make that complete left turn, and disappears from view. Widdershins focuses back to what’s in front of him; the last orange sign being place to warn people of the semi-trailer truck.

Widdershins goes from second gear to third gear to fourth gear in succession, and prepares to make a right turn to the Lacuna. Once more, he looks at the mirrors; Alps is following again, but the semi-trailer truck is already exiting the warehouse.

When Widdershins makes that right turn, the semi-trailer truck is blocking the road completely.

“No! No way!” Ella Jane’s voice rises in excitement. She sticks her head out fully out the front passenger window to look back. “You actually delayed the bastard with that move of yours!”

“Well—,” answers Widdershins, but stops. In his incoming view, is a dangerous amount of greenery and shrubbery of the Lacuna Hotel.

---

“I guess I should have warned you about that particular detail,” says Ella Jane, looking at all her belongings laying out on the edges of the empty Lacuna Hotel Fountain.

Widdershins recognizes Ella Jane’s cellphone and her sunglasses. He also sees two water bottles, a box of fruit-grain bars, a brown wallet, a green personal diary with a black pen, and what Widdershins suspect is a crumple, folded-up photograph.

“And of course, I didn’t bring a packet of napkins.” Ella Jane gives a heavy sigh, and touches her forehead. She then looks at her fingertips, which is slightly bloody. “Then again, I didn’t expect to get hit by a branch and leaves today.”

Widdershins keeps quiet as he quickly digs into his coat pockets. He doesn’t like to keep much on him, only things that can fit in his pockets. Widdershins is glad he has one such important thing currently on him. He thinks it will be useful for Ella Jane’s predicament.

As he grabs ahold of the soft fabric in his right pocket, Widdershins feels a cold breeze on him. It’s a breeze that soon has Ella Jane screaming.

“No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

Widdershins looks up at Ella Jane —green bag back on, everything that she currently has back inside— and sees the woman running after the now confirm photograph, floating and flying in the air. Every time it seems she is able to grab it, the photograph flies just slightly out of her reach. He couldn’t tell from the distance if Ella Jane is ready to cry her eyes out of anger, or out of grief. Maybe both.

“Don’t worry! Aye! I got it!”

Widdershins watches the photograph flying toward him now. He too, gives chase, and bends his knees. He then leaps up into the air, and grabs the photograph. He lands back on the ground on his two feet, though he slightly stumbles, barely landing straight.

Widdershins couldn’t help but look down and stare at the photograph. Despite it being faded with age and crumpled and folded so many times —the person in the photograph looks like he could be wearing a mask— Widdershins can make out some details. The photograph is of a man in his late-thirties or very early forties. The man is smiling a smile that has one meaning, kindness. The man also shares features belonging to Ella Jane herself: black hair, green eyes, and curvy eyebrows.

He is taken back when Ella Jane quickly snatches the photograph away, narrowing her eyes at him. The blood on her forehead is starting to trickle down.

“Sorry,” says Widdershins, once again digging into his right coat pocket. “I didn’t mean to look.”

“Apology accepted,” replies Ella Jane briskly, her tone clearly not really that apologetic. “Why are digging into your pocket for, Heng? You have a small first-aid kit in there?”

“No. I just have this old thing.” Widdershins pulls out a dull white handkerchief with ‘A.F.’ stitch onto it in a dark green thread. It gently moves from the still ongoing breeze. It doesn’t fly away, because he’s keeping a good hold on it.

Ella Jane, still narrowing her eyes, focus her glaze intensely on the handkerchief. She slowly folds up the photograph, and carefully places it into her plaid pants.

“That handkerchief… Why do you—” and here Ella Jane stops herself. She tucks back a strand of her long, dyed brownish-red hair behind her right ear, and continues. “What’s with the initials embroidered on it? That can’t possibly be yours.”

“Not initially,” answers Widdershins softly. “I got this as a kid. It’s a gift in fact, aye. But I doubt you want to hear the full story. Most people I told it to don’t find it very interesting.”

“Well, I find it interesting.” Ella Jane stops narrowing her eyes at him. She stares at him with somewhat wide eyes. “If you got it as a child, and held onto it since…well, I can say that it’s a story that has me wanting to hear more about. If that’s alright with you.”

Widdershins stays quiet as he stares at the handkerchief, and then back at Ella Jane. “Let’s go back to the fountain. Aye, I’m a bit tired from all this standing around.”

Upon their return to the Lacuna Hotel Fountain, the two of them sits down at the fountain edges. Widdershins stares inside the empty fountain. He sees the dead brown leaves and coins inside, all forgotten. He then clears his throat and asks, ““Have you ever heard of Killdeer Fields?”

“I’m familiar with it,” answers Ella Jane, almost coldly. “It was a poor town that got flooded on orders of the second CEO of Ink Inc. —Ignatius Knight —to save his livelihood and the place he once called home. Hundreds of people and animals lost their lives and their home to it.”

“Well,” continues Widdershins, turning his attention to Ella Jane now, “my story takes place before that. Aye, Killdeer Fields was one of the several places to become home to overseas war refugees from the Southeast Asia region. Mainly war refugees from Vietnam, Laos—”

“And Cambodia,” says Ella Jane.

“Aye,” says Widdershins. He then curls the end of his mustache with his right hand. “To live in these places, you have to be on a sponsorship. My ma and I were two of the lucky ones to get them. Our sponsorship landed us in Killdeer Fields, aye. Ma got a job at Killdeer Textile Factory, and I got an education at Killdeer Elementary School.”

Widdershins looks back down at the handkerchief in his other hand. “I’m going to be honest with you. I’m not the most likable person. I get insulted to my face or behind my back, for all the right reasons. Some insult me with a nickname once used for someone else. But back then? It was for all the wrong reasons. A good chunk of the kids at Killdeer Elementary insulted me in ways I never want to hear again. And the school staff turned a blind eye to it, because it wasn’t physical. I wasn’t hurt in their perspective. But one day…”

Ella Jane leans forward, and frowns. “It got physical.”

Widdershins stops curling his mustache. “Bruise eye, bloody nose. It was after school hours too. If someone in the staff actually wanted to do something about it, they couldn’t. I ran to one of the bathrooms to clean up. As I was running, someone saw me. Not a classmate, because we didn’t share a class. We only saw each other at lunch time. The student was a girl. She had black hair in two braids, greens eyes, and curvy eyebrows. Eyebrows that look similar to yours.”

Ella Jane stays quiet. The blood is still continuing to trickle down her face.

“Anyway, she somehow got inside the bathroom. No idea how. Maybe she teleported inside, or came from the bathroom window,” chuckles Widdershins. He carefully gives Ella Jane the handkerchief, his hands touching hers. Her hands unlike his, are warm.

“She gave this to me so I can clean my bloody nose,” he continues. “I thought it too pretty, and tried to give it back. The girl then told me it’s mine to keep. She said her father talked to my ma a few times, and that I can think of the handkerchief as a late-welcoming gift. Then she left.”

Widdershins quickly pulls his hands away from Ella Jane, and then stands up. He then readjusts his coat, and clears his throat once again. “Regarding the initials, I think the handkerchief was her father’s! Aye! It makes sense! No doubt he gave something for his daughter in case she needs it! Aye! And she gave it to a person who needed it more than her! Aye! Didn’t think it would be me! I don’t deserve it, in my opinion! Aye! But I’m grateful for her kind gesture! Aye! Kept it on me since that day! Aye! Until now! Because I’m giving it to you! Er…”

He slowly turns back to Ella Jane, who now has a small smile forming on her face. Widdershins hunches back a bit, and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “If that’s alright with you?”

“Oh, yes,” answers Ella Jane, her small smile becomes bigger. It’s a smile that Widdershins likes very much. Despite being warned of certain smiles by associates, Widdershins thinks Ella Jane’s smile isn’t one to be wary of. “Thank you, Heng. Not just for the handkerchief, but for the story as well. I needed to hear your story after what happened today.”

“You’re welcome.” Widdershins stops his hunching, and stands straight. He then sticks both hands into his coat pockets. “If you don’t mind, it is okay for me to leave you alone, and explore the area a bit? I heard the Lacuna back in its prime had a wonderful aquarium. I would love to see it, even if it empty and in ruins.”

“It’s fine. I need to clean myself up, anyway,” says Ella Jane, pointing to the blood stream trickling down to her cheek now. “Just come back soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

Widdershins turns on his heels, and soon walks to the abandoned Lacuna Hotel. As he pushes the glass doors, he’s glad to know that Ella Jane feels better. No doubt that his former classmate would appreciate that her kindness made another person’s day.

[afterthegreatunknown]

Randomity: Playing Cards, Menacing, and Relationships: Not In That Order

“You know Ella Jane, when you told me one of the people that you’re bringing along has hooks for hands, I assumed they were the prosthetics type. I didn’t think you’ll be bringing Captain Hook who lost both hands to the Crocodile!”

Fernald fights back the need to scoff at the auburn-hair, pale skinned man standing before the group, leaning against a retro-looking blue van. The man is slightly older than Fernald —he’s probably around that waiter Larry’s age, if Fernald has to guess— and has a rather fresh scar on the upper part of his left cheek. His thick Crown City accent grates Fernald, even more than the joke regarding his hooks for hands. If the man wants to play, Fernald will play.

“If one hook is threatening, two hooks is more sinister,” answers Fernald, giving the man a cheeky smile. “It gives the teenagers in their car at a lover lane all the more reasons to get the hell on home.”

The man gives a hearty laugh. “Oh, that’s great, man! Ella Jane, care for some introductions?”

“Gladly. Everyone, meet my acquaintance Bernstein. Bernstein, meet the men assisting us.” Ella Jane then gestures to Stepfather. “This man here is Heng. You’re going to be entrusting him with driving Rocher’s Madden if things get ugly.”

“Hello!” says Stepfather, walking up to the man, and forcibly shakes Bernstein’s hand. “It’s a pleasure you meet you! Aye! How do you do?”

“…I’m doing fine,” answers Bernstein, keeping quiet as Stepfather drops his hand, walks over to the other side of retro van…for some reason. No doubt that Bernstein is shaken up by Stepfather’s odd behavior and his way of speaking.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get use to the ‘aye’ in no time,” says Ella Jane, now gesturing to Hector. “This man here is Hector. He’s the former handyman that is going to do some maintenance work and repairs in the row house.”

“I’ll do the best I can,” says Hector. “If what your associate told me is true, we might be on a time limit. I’m thankful that your associate Rocher has a toolbox in her possession already for me to use.”

“And this young man over here,” says Ella Jane, gesturing to Fernald, “is Jules. Jules, you’re going to assist Bernstein with Alps. Hopefully you two can get along well.”

Fernald says nothing, only a small wave with his right hook.

“No need to worry about us, Ella Jane. I have a feeling we’ll get along wonderfully.” Bernstein snaps his fingers, and makes them two finger-guns. “Now, let’s get this show on the road!”

As Bernstein slides over the hood of the retro van, Fernald wonders how much of the work he has to do. From what Fernald have seen of Bernstein so far, Bernstein is a person who can’t menace in general.

---

“Yes! I win again!” Bernstein dances in his seat as he throws down his hand of cards onto the dashboard. “I am the Fernald’s Folly champ!”

“You clearly have a case of beginner’s luck,” snarls Fernald. Three games played, and Fernald lost them all. Fernald had never lost the game of Fernald’s Folly, a game he created as a child. A game he originally created for himself and his dad, it’s now mostly play by Fernald and others.

Fernald has no damn idea how Bernstein keeps on winning. Not excluding his dad, anyone who Fernald taught the game always loses. Even those that has years of experience —Stepfather, Ike, and Josephine, just to name a few— of Fernald’s Folly under their belt still lost.

“You’re just mad that I’m beating your ass.” Bernstein gives a sharp laugh as he collects all the cards from the pile, putting them into a true proper deck.

Fernald gives a scoff and rolls his eyes. “I’m not mad. Just pointing out the obvious.”

“Is that so?” asks Bernstein. “You tone of voice and expression says otherwise. You make it seems as if you created the game itself and thus have the expectation of always winning. While there’s nothing wrong with winning game, it’s more fun to lose.”

Fernald wishes he could say, “Yeah, I created the game, jackass! So, pardon me if I do feel like winning to everyone except to the one person in my life who hurt me the most,” but doesn’t. It’ll be hard to explain why a man name Jules created a game call Fernald’s Folly.

Bernstein separates the deck into two smaller stacks, and riffle shuffles them. He does it twice more, and gives himself five cards, face down. He does the same for Fernald, and then sets the remaining deck onto the middle of the dashboard. Fernald stares at the five cards before him, and then back at Bernstein, who has his five cards in his hand.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, if I lost a game to any talent opponent —not just one who I have a rivalry with— it would make me want to sharpen my skills, and thrive for a rematch that leads to my win,” answers Bernstein. “I wouldn’t be able to do that if I kept on constantly winning.”

“I guess not,” mutters Fernald, leaning back against the passenger seat.

“Hmm, tell you what,” says Bernstein, taking one card from the deck —a Joker card— and sets it down face-side up. “Let’s make this game more interesting with a wage. If you win, you’ll get my playing cards. I have plenty at home, and losing this one deck will make no difference.”

“I do miss having a deck of cards to call my own,” says Fernald, smiling. “If I lose again?”

“We keep on playing until you win, or until we see Alps making his way around here to make his so-call surprise visit to the row house.”

“Fine by me.”

---

“Will you please give me a chance to explain myself? You know there’s two sides to every story!” The brown-haired man outreaches a hand towards Bernstein’s right shoulder, barely touching it with the tips of his fingers.

Bernstein gives a bitter smile as he quickly pulls away from the other man, and shakes his head. “Two sides to every story? I have a feeling if I heard your side of things, Alps, you’ll still get the same response from me.”

Fernald keeps quiet as he leans against the hood of Bernstein’s retro van, and continues to watch the conversation unfolding. Despite thinking poorly of Bernstein early on, Fernald can see that the man is doing a good job holding up against Alps with menacing. The pain and betrayal Bernstein has is doing a much better job than anything Fernald could ever do. Still, he’s hanging around in case he needs to do something.

“Come on! We know each other since fucking elementary school!”

“And?”

“And? Think about it! A black-haired beauty shows soaking wet from the rain to our hangout. Despite our probing, she tells us little about herself.” Alps hacks a bit, then spits onto the ground. “Yet out of the goodness of your heart —all of our hearts— we befriended her. We showed her around Crown City when no one else could. All we done to help her, and she’s suddenly saying all this bullshit about me. We might have known her for five months, but she’s still a still technical stranger to us. You’re believing the words of stranger than your best friend!”

“Of course I’ll be taking Ella Jane’s words over yours. She was the one who stopped you from verbally insulting V at Wellington’s Arms two months ago after closing hours.”

“I got hammered! You make it seems as if drunk people never get into a—”

“And it was Ella Jane who took V to the ER room a few weeks ago after her apparent ‘flight down the apartment stairs,’ which is something you apparently didn’t hear happening.”

“I had my earphones on! I couldn’t hear a thing. You know that I’m a bit hard of—”

“And you literally gave me this thing as I pulled V away to safety from you, in front of a crowd of people, just yesterday.” Bernstein points to the still fresh scar on his upper left cheek.

“Well…it’s just that…it was supposed to be a private matter! Can’t you understand that?”

Fernald couldn’t help but scoff at hearing Alps pathetically trying to answer back to his friend. He can’t believe the man is serious. Fernald just has to say his two cents.

“You know damn well that it isn’t,” says Fernald. “Considering people saw you raising your hand at your fiancée in public, if Bernstein wasn’t there, someone else would have intervene instead.”

“I say otherwise, but I’m not the mood to argue, freak.” Alps narrows his eyes at Fernald.

“I have a physical disability, asshole,” replies Fernald.

“Then why not get fake wood hands to cover them?”

“Because I don’t care for them much.”

“I say you should.” Alps’ lips forms into a cruel smile. “I’m honestly not surprise Wile managed to get a freak outsider like yourself into her lies. She must have smooth-talked you really well.”

Fernald growls in responds. “That’s not what happened.”

“I bet you loved all the compliments she whispered to your ear,” continues Alps, clearly pretending to not have heard Fernald speaking. “Consider your lack of hands, I bet you had a hard life, going through many trials to get where you are now, which is still pathetic.”

“I was born with hands, and loss them later in life.”

“Really?” Alps raises an eyebrow. “The chip on your shoulder must be something else then.”

Fernald narrows his eyes. “You better stop talking before you do something stupid.”

“But what could it be?” prattles Alps. He mocks thinking, and then snaps his fingers. “Of course! It’s too obvious! It’s daddy issues! Your old man left suddenly and unexpectedly at a young age, promising to come back, but never did. And that’s because you discovered years later as a freak, he remarried, and moved far away. You got abandoned, and you know that—”

“I said stop talking, you fucking idiot!”

Fernald quickly takes two steps towards Alps, and swipes his right hook towards the man’s face. Both Bernstein and Alps move away from him, but Alps falls down onto his ass.

Fernald continues to chase Alps, who is scurrying away on the ground. The faster Alps scurries, the faster Fernald walks. When Alps finally reaches the chain fence. Fernald smirks and laughs; this is always his favorite part. Fernald slowly raises his right hook above his head—

“Jules!” cries Bernstein’s voice. The man’s voice is right beside him now, shaky and scare.

And stops. Fernald stops his smirk and laughing, and he slowly lowers his right hook to his side. Fernald stay quiet as he watches Alps slowly standing up again, with all the blood draining away from his face. Alp is pale, and he turns to look at Bernstein, now standing by Fernald, with a grateful expression. Fernald watches Bernstein stays quiet as he suddenly raises a fist and punches Alps across the face, near his chin. And Alps falls down, unconscious.

Fernald stares at Alps, and then once again stares at Bernstein. “I didn’t—I wasn’t planning to hurting him. Please don’t tell my stepdad and everyone else when we get back. Please don’t.”

“Don’t worry about it,” answers Bernstein calmly, placing a reassuring hand on Fernald’s shoulder. “Anger can get to best of us. And I won’t tell anyone what you nearly did. Your secret is safe with me. Now, let’s try tying the bastard to the fence so he doesn’t cause more trouble.”