April, 1865 He’d wasted hours wandering the streets, sweat dripped down to his neck, his horse slowing from all the aimless traveling. It has been 3 hours since he committed the botched butchering at the Seward residence, he made sure to dispose of his knife after the attack, keeping his unloaded revolver with him and no guilt felt. He stumbled upon a small isolated neighborhood, stopping at a particular house, got off his horse and stepped on the porch, knocking weakly, malnourished