The days grew cold.
Every roof had to be burned.
Control is a word in the dictionary.
He resorted to hopping freight cars, but after the incident in Omaha, there wasn't any chance of that working out either.
Silas was alone.
"Sir, you can't sleep here."
His eyes cracked open to gaze upon the face of the transit police officer.
"Please…Its cold outside."
He thought for a moment.
"Ain't you got nowhere to go?"
Silas shook his head. "No roof. No family."
"Hit me. I'll bring you to jail for the night. No charges. No prison. And it'll get you out of the cold."
Silas smiled a bit, "That's a strange way to show kindness, but I have to decline. Can't be around people."
The transit cop pulled him off the bench and dusted his clothes off.
"Then you picked the wrong station. This place gets awful busy in the morning."
"Alright. I'll go."
Silas walked outside and the snow coming down reminded him of all those cold days of December back at the Asylum.
He couldn't remember the last time Christmas was happy for him.
Probably his last one with Anne.
He wrote her a poem.
She gave him a kiss.
Whispers echo between the buildings of a cold Chicago, Silas closed his eyes and tilted his head to prevent teardrop icicles.
"The burning sun loves the ebony night…"
He stopped short.
"I forgot the rest…"
He sighed and sat on a bench and folded his arms into his chest. How could he forget?
She loved it. Told him it was terrible with her eyes. But she loved it.
Silas hated it. But they had no way to buy presents. It was all he could do.
He looked to the sky, the stars were there, but faint from the light pollution.
It was nearly pitch-black.
"Merry Christmas, Anne…"