The rumble of the train didn't stop—nor did the doubts.
A heavy silence spilled between them.
Glances exchanged. Breaths slowed.
Between tension and realization... something cracked deep within, like a thread about to snap.
Earl (with regret):
"It can't be... I'm certain I didn't put it anywhere else."
Mikael finally spoke, as if his voice had been waiting for a precise moment.
Mikael:
"Think. The last time... where was it?"
Earl:
"Yes, yes... I moved when I heard Rona barking,when those thugs arrived.
There wasn't enough time to set the sling, so I drew another gun from my leg and went out.
I remember clearly now: I loaded it, polished it, then returned it to the holster. I'm sure.
It was there... until they came. After that, I never touched it again."
Malik:
"Since no one snuck into our camp... maybe it slipped from you without notice."
Earl (anxiously):
"No way... God, this is unbearable."
Jack (trying to lighten the mood):
"I promise I'll buy you another one."
Earl (angrily):
"Damn it! You really don't understand... You don't understand what it means to lose something dear to you!"
Jack (defensive):
"Hey....what's that supposed to mean?"
Tension escalated. Both men stood.
And in the middle of it all... Mikael burst into laughter.
It was quiet at first—he covered his face with his hand, trying to suppress it....
but then, his laughter grew sharper... and strangely sincere.
The others stared, confused by his reaction.
Mikael's laughter slowly faded. They all turned toward him.
Mikael (raising a hand, smiling):
"Sorry. Sorry..."
Jack (smiling awkwardly, assuming it was his fault):
"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to."
Then he adjusted his stance,he always stood awkwardly when angry.
Earl (seriously):
"Yes... it was your fault."
Mikael (still smiling):
"Earl, would you like to get your gun back?"
Earl (eagerly):
"Yes! Yes..... please! But... how?"
Mikael:
"Bill... we need to go back."
The group (in disbelief):
"What? But why?"
Mikael (calmly):
"I left something behind too... something that matters. Just like Earl."
No one quite understood what Mikael meant, but he spoke with unwavering certainty.
Bill moved to request a stop at the nearest station, but before doing so, he glanced at Mikael and asked:
Bill:
"Boss... is there something we missed?"
Mikael (gazing out the window):
"You see that... little hazelnut?
She's the one who took your gun, Earl."
All eyes widened.
Pieces clicked together.
Earl collapsed into his seat, stunned.
They all knew who he was talking about.
Earl:
"What...? Oh God..."
Mikael (softly, analytically):
"There was something strange about her... Her final look...it was a challenge."
Bill (astonished):
"Wow... She came asking for help, knowing we wouldn't interfere,
but still got the help—on her own terms. Incredible."
Malik (shocked):
"No way... Even the way she talked was odd.
Is she... an adult trapped in a child's body?"
Bill's expression turned serious.
And to convince the train to stop,he had no choice.
He had to show the gun.
There was no other way.....
...The train began to slow down, but the tension still lingered in the air. No one uttered a word, yet their eyes gleamed with anticipation for what was to come... And so, they were ready,to return to the unknown.....
***Elsewhere:
Zuzanna (exhausted):
"Do I have to go too, sir?"
Mr. Henrik was standing with difficulty, drenched in sweat, as if something had hit him hard.
He said nervously,
"I'm sorry, but you must come with me. Just this once... it's important."
He wiped the sweat from his forehead. He looked to be in his late fifties, though his tired features made him seem older. His long, wavy gray hair and sharp blue eyes did not conceal the kindness in his expression. He wore old but elegant clothes, and around his neck hung a leather necklace with a seashell pendant.
In truth, Henrik was Magda's old friend... or rather, her eternal love. She had been deeply in love with him, but he was married at the time. Magda had worked in many places during her midlife, often facing harassment and abuse,until the day she met Henrik.
He had been kind to her. They met when she was working as a cleaner in a law office, where he was a legal assistant. He was brilliant at his job... until he was dismissed and sent to prison for a forgery case. Henrik was an expert in forging documents and money,he had even helped Magda obtain psychological and social certificates that enabled her to work as a supervisor in an orphanage.
They separated later, but he returned to her after his wife passed away.
Henrik was visibly anxious, aggressively rubbing his peeling fingers.
He thought to himself:
"Damn it... What should I do? I'm finished. Dear Magda, why did you drag me into this? What do I do now?"
He shut the small house door behind the shop and quickly locked the shop door as well.
Zuzanna called out from outside,
"Are we walking to your destination?"
Henrik glanced to his right at a nearby hotel, just two blocks away. He hesitated for a moment, then reopened the shop. He rushed to the desk drawer, grabbed the car key and a few of his belongings, and locked up carefully.
He grabbed Zuzanna's hand and rushed off.
She panted,
"Ah, sir... Sorry, but do we really have to run like this?"
They arrived at another house, larger this time. He led her inside, then went out to the garage.
Meanwhile, Zuzanna began inspecting the place. She saw a picture of Magda.
Why is Magda's picture here?
But she wasn't surprised—she already knew about Henrik and Magda's relationship.
Then her eyes landed on another photo. She wiped the dust off,
It was Jan!
Outside, there was an old car covered with a heavy, dusty tarp.
Henrik pulled off the cover, opened the door, and inserted the key… but the car wouldn't start.
He said angrily,
"Damn it! Start… come on! I should've thought of this,I haven't started you in ages."
Then he remembered he had disconnected the battery earlier. He rushed back, reinstalled it, and tried again. After several attempts, the engine finally came to life.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed nearby…
His eyes widened. He wasn't alone.
Two figures appeared before him.
One of them said sharply,
-Where are you going, Henrik Kaminski?....
***In a secluded place that once seemed like an abandoned factory, fragmented voices of men echoed in the shadows. But inside one of the storage rooms, where the stifling stench of coal choked the air, he was imprisoned ... locked inside a car, suffocating in unbearable heat. It felt like the end was near... until someone finally noticed him.
At the lower warehouse entrance:
"Oh my God… shouldn't we get him out? The men passed out drunk last night. No one noticed him."
The car door creaked open with a sharp screech, and Bach fell to the ground like a lifeless corpse. His body was tied, hands bound to his feet. His fate was still unknown. He was dehydrated, dizzy, vomiting... a pitiful state.
The man in charge, staring down at him with disdain, muttered,
"Damn them. Why did they leave him in the car?"
(This man was once an acquaintance of Bach… an old friend.)
Another voice replied coldly, a faint mocking tone in it,
"He deserves it… just look at him."
Bach wasn't fully unconscious. He felt and heard everything. His eyes were red, burning with pain, but he forced himself to resist....
After some time, his consciousness returned gradually, while the cooperative man adjusted him slightly, easing his position. The other one left, laughing as he said:
"You keep an eye on him. He looks like shit anyway."
After a few moments, Bach spoke, weakly:
"…Seems like we're at the factory…"
The man answered tersely, avoiding eye contact,
"Yes…"
Bach looked at him with confused, glassy eyes and whispered:
"Aren't you going to save me, Kuba?"
Kuba gave a bitter smile,
"Maybe… I might want to. Even though I'm sure you wouldn't have done it if our roles were reversed. But… not now. I'm not looking for trouble."
Kuba was an old friend. But he knew very well the devilish nature of Bach.
"What if it takes too long… and he kills me?" Bach mumbled.
"The Master? I don't think he'll kill you too."
Bach gasped suddenly:
"What?! 'Me too'? Who's been killed?!"
Kuba, looking exhausted, said:
"Mikolaj… he's dead."
Bach's eyes widened.
"Wasn't he close to him?"
"I don't know why he killed him so quickly. Even that man, Mikael... he never seemed like someone who harbored hatred. Maybe it was because Mikolaj stole from the warehouse last time... I don't know. It was strange. Even so, master Rafal looked sad afterward. He drank more than usual..."
Then Kuba glared at Bach with disgust:
"For God's sake, I know you're a bastard, but… what about the girl? Are you some kind of pervert?"
Bach's brow tensed in anger,
"What are you talking about?"
Kuba replied,
"Why did you take..."
***Suddenly, a voice interrupted them. A man humming a tune entered:
"Ooooh… oh, what do we have here? Still breathing, I see."
"Bach immediately recognized the voice , it was the familiar face of Jerzy, the man from the center, who had once vowed revenge. It wasn't Mikael or his group who exposed him ,it was Jerzy."
"Oh, sad to see you like this… though you look better this way , like an obedient dog."
Jerzy slapped Bach's face repeatedly. Slow, humiliating slaps. Bach froze, rage burning in his eyes.
Before leaving, Jerzy sneered:
"Thought I'd let you know… all you did for that girl,Oops, will be in vain. Maybe the boss will take her for himself."
Bach shouted:
"What?! You bastard! What are you saying?! That can't happen!"
He tried to rise, but Jerzy's boot hit him hard across the face, knocking him down.
Jerzy then looked at Kuba,
"Keep an eye on him."
He left, flipping Bach off on his way out.
Bach growled,
"You bastard… I swear I'll kill you with my own hands… slowly."
Kuba muttered with disgust,
"God… this is disgusting."
At that moment, Bach screamed:
"Kuba, let me go now!"
Kuba calmly replied,
"And what if I don't, Bach?"
Bach shifted his trembling tone into one dripping with hatred, a wicked smirk curling on his lips, betraying all that he harbored within.
"You asked me about the girl… Kuba… the photo. It can explain everything."
Kuba narrowed his eyes.
"What photo?"
"In my back pocket," Bach muttered darkly. "There's a photo."
Kuba stepped closer, cautiously, suspicion in his every movement. He didn't trust Bach ,no one in their right mind would. But curiosity, or perhaps something deeper, pulled him in.....