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He slammed the bottle down with a heavy thunk, the amber liquid sloshing around wildly inside the glass before settling. His back bowed as he slumped forward in drunken resignation, the chair creaking in protest. One hand reached up to brush his unkempt hair back, the slick grease and dirt from days of careless neglect leaving a slippery layer of grease trailing on his fingers.
It had been 20 years since that day.
Taking a raspy breath in, his dead eyes looked around the rotting remains of the room. Layers of dust had settled on everything, making the grubby looking room seem more decrepit as the years slowly crawled by. He had thrown everything that he could as his despair and guilt had bludgeoned him day after day. Shards of glass littered the filthy floor, the slivers glowing like dim stars that glinted from whatever light that could pass through the boarded up windows and the thick dust that clogged the air. His desk and floor were littered and piled high with torn sheets of crumbling paper and the remains of broken plates, cups, anything that could shatter and tear. Anything that he could destroy.
But no matter what he had ripped apart, no matter how many times he had heard the sound of shattered ceramics, no matter the ghost of the pain that still seemed to linger in his hands from where he had pounded that brick wall until they bled and his throat had grown hoarse from begging them to bring her back...
His beloved daughter was gone.
Anna, he whispered to himself as the tears began to flow once more. He sobbed quietly into his hands, his mind a whirlwind of self loathing and regret for letting those thieves take her away...
No, this was all on him. HE had been the one to fall into the pit of guilt from his actions at Wounded Knee. HE had been the one to gamble and drink away all of their money. HE had been the one to agree to the deal. HE had been the one who had carried his little baby to those people.
It was all him. All his fault, and his innocent little girl had paid the price.
His grief increased as his sobs gradually rose in volume that he didn't hear the front door creak open until a vaguely familiar and masculine voice stilled his tears.
"My my, now aren't we a mess?" The voice said with no small amount of arrogance and obvious disgust. He opened his eyes and blearily located the offending figure through his tears. Red leaked into his vision as he staggered up and clumsily stomped towards the other, hands raised as if to strangle the bastard.
"You..." he growled out, voice hoarse from disuse. "What have you done t..." He stopped as the man raised a hand calmly, a smirk lifting the corners of his mouth.
"Now now, Mr. DeWitt." The other said as he lowered his hand and bowed his head in mocked respect. "No need for such violence. Need I remind you what your rash decisions cost you last time?"
DeWitt growled again, his mouth opening to retort, but the man interrupted him again.
"Speaking of last time, I'm here to offer you another deal." He said in a snide tone, his infuriating smirk only growing wider at DeWitt's mounting frustration and disbelief. DeWitt snorted.
"What makes you think I'll do anything you want after your previous 'deal'?" DeWitt spat out, his eyes alight with hatred and showing more life than they had in years.
The other man simply hummed and seemed like he was contemplating his response, but the tilt of his head and his smug said otherwise.
"What if I offered you the opportunity to take back your daughter?"