Jeremy was not the kind of man who was frightened easily. He has stared down people who have pointed guns at him, placed himself in situations that were extremely dangerous, telling people they didnâ€™t have the balls to face him. Most of the time he was right; after all he was an infamously dangerous man and most people knew better than to cross paths with him when he was in a bad mood. The very thought of someone setting him up really bothered him to the point where he simply could not redirect his thoughts. He was beyond being pissed off, he was out for blood. Words probably could not fully describe in detail just how angry he truly was. The warmth from his breath began to steam up his glasses and he had to stop to wipe the lenses every five minutes or so. Having to do that every once in awhile was frustrating but he would be blind as a fucking bat without them, and every year his eyesight just kept getting worse.<br/><br/>Hands shaking a bit he ran a hand through his dirty blond hair and held his flashlight as steady as he could while continued on through this endless sea of white and trees. His feet feeling heavy each time they sank into the snow. If he had to hazard a guess, the snow was a good five inches deep, and it was still falling. The wind seemed to be picking up as well, making him wonder if there was some big storm coming. His ears already felt numb in the cold as well and his face was burning from both the cold and the amount of anger surging through him right now. If this were a cartoon of some sort, his anger would probably cause enough heat to melt the snow in his path.<br/><br/>A shiver ran through him and he pulled his jacket tighter around him.<br/><br/>His breathing was steady, in spite of his increased heart rate from being angry and unsure about the situation, and he held pistol and flashlight out in front of him, resting the pistol carefully on the flashlight so he could aim both items. It still confused him why he was given a pistol; perhaps whoever sent him here was just waiting for him to lose his mind and kill himself. Like hell that was going to happen, he thought to himself. Jeremy has had a rather rough life and this was just another obstacle, right? Somehow he was not convinced of that. This felt different, and he could not place his finger on it, that was what was frustrating. He hated feeling lost, and even worse was something could have happened to his wife, which was not sitting well with him to say the least. Everywhere he looked, nothing but trees, and some of them, he swore up and down, had mocking faces and were laughing at him for being so lost. Maybe he has already lost it. He could have sworn he heard soft laughter in his ear.<br/><br/>â€œDonâ€™t be ridiculous, trees canâ€™t laugh, stop overreacting,â€ he murmured to himself, shaking his head, but his reassurance seemed to have little effect. Everything looked the same, he was probably going in circles, and the snow was not making things any better. The wind bit the back of his neck again and he felt himself shiver. He wasnâ€™t sure how long he had been wandering around out here in the cold, but it was starting to get to the point where he could barely feel his face. His clothes must not have been as heavy as he would have liked though it wasnâ€™t like there was anything he could do about it. Better than being completely naked and risk frostbite, right? At least his feet were warm.<br/><br/>And speaking of warmth, he happened to spot an old shed up ahead. Jeremy almost wanted to let out a cry of joy, relief, that he found somewhere to take shelter from this horrible storm. However, he could have sworn he noticed a figure in the distance. He immediately lowered his flashlight, shielding the light with his hand to make it less noticeable and took a few steps back, taking shelter behind a few trees. Who else could be out here with him? One would think it was a relief to find someone else out here, but he was wary instead. He narrowed his eyes at the figure, watching, waiting to see what they would do. His hand was wrapped tight around the grip of his gun, index finger resting by the trigger but the gun was not held in front of him. The gun, too, was lowered in the same manner of the flashlight as a precaution to make himself less noticeable to whoever was there.<br/><br/>What ifâ€¦ what if they had Margo? What if they threw him here so they could take Margo away from him? The very thought made his blood boil but he had to keep telling himself to remain calm. With a gun that was not fully loaded he could not affor to waste bullets. lJust wait it out... maybe they would leave...