Cogs Of Fate

Family Matters

Wyatt and Flynn found themselves in the foyer of the house. They scanned the areas for any intruders. The front door and windows didn't show any signs of forced entry. They stopped moving across the old wood floors to listen. They could hear the faint shuffling of footsteps above them.

Turning to look at Flynn, Wyatt motioned for Flynn to head around the left, while he offered to go to the right. Before Flynn could agree, the floorboard creaked loudly around the corner of the stairwell in the hallway that wrapped around to the back of the house.

Both men whirled around, guns aimed before them. Their eyes landed on William Farr. The man raised his hands defensively. "Wait! Wait! Don't shoot me!"

"What are you doing here?" Flynn questioned, never lowering his weapon.

Farr's gaze bounced between the two. "You're quite jumpy-"

"Answer the question!" Wyatt snapped, grip tightening on his gun.

Farr sighed. "I came to discuss the matter further with Mr. Snow."

"Why?" Wyatt asked. "You didn't seem too interesting in speaking to him earlier."

"Things have changed," Farr admitted with a shrug.

Flynn studied him. He didn't trust the man. "Where's your friend?"

"What friend?" Farr asked. "I came by myself."

Wyatt gave Farr a quick once-over. Farr was still dressed in his fancy suit but he had no hat. He cursed himself under his breath. Turning to Flynn, he pointed out, "The two we saw had hats."

Flynn's eyes ran the length of Farr before meeting Wyatt's again. He whirled back around, glancing around the corner for the two men they had seen coming.

Wyatt motioned for Farr to stay quiet by bringing his finger to his lips. Farr nodded, remaining motionless as Wyatt headed in the opposite direction as Flynn, hoping to flush out the men they suspected to be Rittenhouse.

Flynn's eyes darted about the sparse room, searching for the intruder. The room held a small puffed sofa that sat in the middle of the room, facing the old fireplace. Next to the chipped fireplace sat the rod iron tools for it. Across the room in the opposite corner from the entryway, sat a single wooden chair. The tall front windows were adorned by floor-to-ceiling brown curtains that were barely cracked open.

Knowing there were limited places for an intruder to hide, Flynn glanced down at the floor where the floor-to-ceiling curtains hung over the windows, hoping to see the tips of shoes peeking out. As he inched closer, he heard a scuffle behind him.

Whirling around toward the commotion, he stood eye to eye with a large man wearing a bowler hat and brown suit. The man before Flynn raised his gun, pointing it straight at Flynn's face.

Reacting quickly, Flynn grabbed the man's wrist, jerking it to the side. The gun went off, lighting the room briefly, sending the bullet through the window, shattering it into pieces. The sounds of the glass plinking off the wooden floorboards were drowned out by the two grappling for control.

The two struggled for power over the weapon. The larger man used his body to push Flynn backward toward the sofa as they fought for the weapon. Flynn felt the arm of the sofa slam into the back of his thighs. Before he could react, he toppled over the side.

Flynn refused to release his grip on the man and his weapon, knowing the severity of such an action. When he fell, he pulled the man down with him. The two crashed onto the floor and the gun popped out of the man's grip, sliding across the floor of the dark room.