Once upon a time, back when Trent was eight years old. It was back when Steve still had them moving around a whole lot. This was actually right after he killed his friends (Axel and Ron) back at the trailer, like he was explaining to Jered earlier. They were on a frantic search for a new town to settle down into but at that particular moment they were only looking for a place to set up camp. One problem: they practically hadn't a dime to their name. So they couldn't even stay at the rattiest and cheapest of motels.

For some reason unknown to anyone but Steve (hopefully at least he knew where they were going), they were traveling down a dusty back road of a rural town. Farms and cows as far as the eye could see. Until they all noticed a very nice, mini-mansion of a house. A demonic smirk spread on Steve's lips while he stared at the brick house in the sunset's glow. He pulled the car over about a half a mile away from the home and turned the engine off. He blew cigarette smoke over his face and stared at the house in a plotting manner. Trent knew something bad was going to happen, and soon. Trent thought maybe using his telepathic powers might work. It hadn't for a long time but it wouldn't hurt to see if they were back.

He concentrated about his brother and his message that he couldn't speak out loud; for Steve could sense it when you were talking about him. He was scary when he went into a paranoid frenzy. He was really scary. He sent his thought, Jered, do you feel like something bad is going to happen? He looked over to him. Jered was staring out the window still. He couldn't hear him anymore. Trent felt like crying. He didn't know why but he just felt like a part of himself had died. He let his head bang on the window a little as he rested his head against it. He ran his hands through his hair and looked sadly out his window. But the odd thing was that he couldn't cry. The tears would not come. And a few seconds after he realized that fact, he tried to remember the last time he did cry; and he couldn't. It shocked him a little out of his depressed feeling.

"Mama, I have to go pee," Jered said. The boys' had a weird phase of calling Fiona mama, instead of their usual, plain old mom.

"Well, then get out and go behind a tree over across the street." Fiona suggested.

"NO." Steve interrupted.

"No?" Fi and Jered asked.

"No."

"Why not?" Jered questioned.

"You'll make a break for it if I give you the opportunity." He said flatly.

"Huh? I don't know what a break for it is. How can I make one?"

"No, you're not getting out and that's all there is to it."

So the whole fam dambly stayed in the un-air-conditioned car until close to eleven o'clock and Jered fidgeted in his seat for the last two hours of it. No one questioned why they were doing this either. And even if they did it would be in vain. Steve would only give vague answers that only left them feeling even more confused and a little scared even. Steve took one last draw from his last cigarette and put it out in the pepper filled ashtray then said to himself as he got out of the car. " Hope they smoke. Heh, that rhymed...sorta."

Fi, Jered, and Trent watched him walked to the trunk, get something out of it, slam it shut, and walk across the giant, green yard with what appeared to be his favorite eight-inch dagger. Fi put her hand over her face in shame for she knew what he was going to do, besides kill those innocent people in that house, he was going to use it against her. He would say someday "I killed that family back there for you and the boys! If it was just me, I could have just went to sleep in the car. But I wanted to give you a nice place to sleep for the night. Now, if you don't call that love than I don't know what is!" When really he did it because it gave him pleasure to kill. He felt powerful. And that's what it was all about for him: power.

Fiona cringed when the scream of bloody murder pierced through the glass windows of the car. She didn't know what she could do about it. "Mama?"

"What, baby?" she said with reluctance.

"Why are there children still out right now?" Jered asked.

"What do you mean, honey?" she asked confused.

"Well, I just heard a little girl scream."

"Oh. Well, uh honey, I don't know why the-" She began to sob in between her words," I don't know why there are children still playing outside."

"Mama, please don't cry." Jered comforted her. "It's okay if you don't know something." She began to laugh to cover how much harder she was crying.

"You're right, baby. It is okay."

The porch light flipped on. "Mama, I think Steve's done killin' em." Trent said in his flat tone. She walked her kids across the yard to the house and into the kitchen, where Steve was washing his hands and cleaning the knife.

"Boys, I have two rules, two simple rules. One: Don't go upstairs. Two: Don't go upstairs. And now I also believe that it is time for you guys to get to sleep. I found a spare bedroom down here so you can go to sleep in there." He turned from washing his bloody friend and said with it in hand, "Goodnight."

Without protest or any sort of word Trent scampered off to the room Steve spoke of and Jered relived himself in the bathroom. Then afterwards Jered crawled under the quilt with his brother on the queen-size mattress. Jered fell asleep fast enough but (like he was presently doing) Trent lied awake thinking. He wondered why they weren't allowed upstairs. He heard the lamp outside in the living room click out about twenty minutes after he heard Steve leave. Trent waited a few more minutes to let who ever turned the lamp to fall asleep. Once he felt it was safe, he crawled out of bed on to the hard wood floor.

He groped his way around in the dark, being sure not to knock any thing over. He found the stairs and crept up them as quietly as possible. He thought about how this was like being Shaggy in a haunted mansion going along with his still childish imagination he whispered out loud, "Come, on Scoob. I have a scooby-snack attack," in his Shaggy imitation voice. He reached the top and went down the hallway to his left. He had two bedrooms to pick from, and again he went with left.

He couldn't see two inches in front of him, before his eyes adjusted to the even darker bedroom. He thought he could make out the shape of horses on the shelves. "This is a little girl's room," he said to himself. Then he noticed the canapé bed with a lace curtain all around it. There was someone in it. Trent ran over to the side of the large bed, slipped through the curtains, and worked his way on top of it.

"Wake up," he whispered. She didn't respond. So he said it a little louder, "Wake up." -nothing. He shook her on the arm but before he managed to say anything he pulled his hands right back. She was cold. Then, Trent remembered what he himself had said back in the car. Steve killed her.

Trent crawled to the other side of the girl to get a look at her face. She had dark, short hair and blue eyes that shone in the darkness. "She's beautiful," he whispered out loud. "I mean she was beautiful," he corrected himself. She looked only eight, like himself. Trent felt like he was going to cry again but, again the tears just wouldn't come. She had blood on her pillow from where she was slit across her throat. It was a small slit but enough to kill her obviously. He reached his hand out to touch her face and looked upon her sympathetically, maybe even empathetically.

"He killed me too."

No, he hasn't.

"What?" He heard a voice he didn't recognize. It wasn't like the other voices he usually heard. It was feminine and benign.

He hasn't killed you, yet. You're strong enough to overcome him. That strength is a spiritual gift, Trenton. And ignoring your spiritual gift is an insult in itself to God. Your strength alone is enough to keep your mother and brother strong.

He took in the words and responded to them. "What about her? Why wasn't she strong?"

It was her time to come home.

"Will I go home?"

You will live long before you come home, Trenton. She sighed gently.

Trent focused his eyes back on her with the reassurance that he wouldn't share the same fate as the young girl, whose face he touched so delicately. And then he was almost sorry that he would out live her. He shimmied his way onto the bed and lied next to her. He stared up at the top of the canapé and wondered deep into his mind, just thinking about how he didn't have any friends. And in our present story Trent remembered that that fact still remained true. Sure he had Kim and Adam but they were never close. They just hung out during school and on the way home from school. >Back to the flashback< He wondered what it was like to have a close best friend. Then the word "close" echoed off his skull and back to his unconscious mind... She was close to him at the moment.

He slid his arm under her back until his hand held her shoulder on the other side of her. Then, reached over her un-beating chest and held the same shoulder as his opposite hand and laid his cheek on the lifeless skin of her left shoulder. He lied there quietly in the still darkness. The thought never surfaced that he was lying in a dead little girl's bed and holding her cold body his arms. He oddly found comfort being next to her. Then he filled the silence with an innocent question. "Will you be my friend?"

Her silence was as good as anything to him. And he felt a release within his soul at that moment. But then, that fragile silence was cracked with the slam of the heavy mahogany front door downstairs. Trent felt fear well up in his once peaceful body. He heard Steve's untied Coleman work boots clonk against the waxed floors. They moved rhythmically until the must have started hitting the rug. The little TV in the kitchen clicked on. Then Trent remembered Steve loved late night TV. It was the most provocative and had the most adult humor of any other time slot. Trent couldn't go to sleep even with just that small sound coming from below. He took his arms back gently and hoped off the tall bed and closed her door all the way. The door clicked and he crawled back onto the bed, past the white, frilly curtains and repositioned his arms back around her. With the sweet silence of the room overpowering the buzz of the TV under them, Trent fell asleep. It began to rain after he fell asleep. It was a tranquil, calm and peaceful sleep, but not for too long.

Trent was terrified out of his deep sleep by being yanked off the tall bed by the arm with no regard to his pain sensors. He had no idea what was going on as he was being drug out of his new friend's room, down the hallway, and bumped on his rear all the way down the flight of stairs.

"Steve?? What are you doing?? Where are you taking me??" He then noticed a long roll of thick rope in his left hand. "Steve, what are you doing?? Let go of me!!" and just before he had him out the door he yelled, "Mama!"

The night air was cold and the rain had begun to pour. Trent yelled, screamed, and fought, and boy, did he fight as hard as a half awake eight year old could. He bit, he kicked, and he dug his nails into Steve's flesh so deep that it penetrated his skin, making him bleed a little. But Steve acted like nothing was happening. Trent finally squirmed his arm free but he wasn't quick enough in the mud to his bare feet and Steve simply grabbed him by his leg and drug him across the yard on his back. But Trent still tried to get away but with no such luck.

They made it to what appeared to be where Steve was meaning to take him, a huge red barn with white doors big enough to fit a combine through. Steve pushed the door to the side and went in with Trent flailing behind him. Trent's face red and hot with hate, confusion, and exhaustion. Steve threw him into a big pile of hay then turned around and shut the big doors behind him.

Trent, with all his limbs shaking, tried to stand up. Steve took five big steps toward him with the brown rope. Trent started for the doors he had just closed. But Steve snatched him by his wrists and wrapped the rope around one and grabbed his other hand, winded it around that one and tied them together, Trent protesting ferociously the whole way through. And Steve was still being stolid, as if he was only tying his shoe and not his girlfriend's eight-year old son by the arms.

He grabbed Trent with his thumb and forefinger by his jaw and looked him square in the eyes. His caramel eyes had spider webs of blood in them. He didn't have an unusual smell on him though. That was unusual. He generally smelled of marijuana smoke when that spider spun its web (not that Trent knew what that smell was exactly from at that age).

"If you try to run," he paused and pointed to the door, "I will go get you. And I will bring you back here." He stopped and let go of his chin. "If you run again...I will go get you and bring back here." He paused again. "If you run again I will go get you." He pointed to the dirt floor of the barn. "And I will bring you back here." He paused and took a step back. "If you run again." He threw his arm up from his side and pointed to the doors. "I will go get you and bring you back here. Do you understand what I'm saying?" The light brown, thin patch of hair on the top of his head had a few strans of hair fallen over his lightly tanned face.

Trent's eye twitched. It may have just been from the hay but it also could have been from all the rage screaming through his veins. Gosh, I remember exactly how I felt right then. Sixteen year-old Trent thought in the half darkness. I was so angry that things were starting to get blurry. I just felt like exploding but once just wouldn't be enough. I'd had to do it a dozen times, at least. I couldn't do anything except stand there and shaking with that dark, vile energy pumping-no....throbbing andhurting. That energy was so strong, so dark that it hurt to have it awake in my body. I knew it was always there but it was just asleep - in a way. I don't know how I knew. Heh, he stagger laughed, and it took someone as bad as Steve to awaken it.

His eye twitched again. He started breathing through his nose heavier and louder, drawing his eyebrows closer to the inside corners of his eyes.

"I really shouldn't even have to ask." He said while walking toward a small tack room. "You're smart." He came out with something tall and slim in his hand but, it was dark and the only light came from the big window at the top of the barn. "But I don't think you're quite smart enough to weasel you're way around old farmer Red."

What? He thought to himself. He sounds almost like he's drunk but he doesn't smell bad. What's going on?! He couldnt see him anymore and that was beginning to scare him.

"Wait." It sounded like he was thinking. "It's farmer Brown, isn't it?" He paused another few seconds. "Oh well. They were both good-for-nothing's who hit the sauce too much. Like I said...they were.

"It was a showdown; high noon, forty paces, and that beautiful Miss Kitty whore squealing along the sidelines, the whole sha-bang. 'Cept replace the good lookin' whore with an ugly one about twenty years older than Kitty would be. In the end, Red won; I guess you could say. He killed his pal Brown and had a forty-three year-old whore at his side with a cigarette in her fire engine red lips that she swore she could still pull off at her age. But he did the right thing once he took all that in. He turned his pistol on himself. Oh well." He stopped now that he had lost his train of thought and had Trent thoroughly confused. "Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yeah. I remember now."

He grabbed Trent's tied hands by surprise and pulled them above his head. Again, Trent tried to fight but he was just too small and weak, even with that dark energy working in him. Steve tied the knot that was around his wrists to another rope that hung low from a beam above both of them. Trent pulled and tugged against it.

"But that shirt has to come off. You wear it every single day." Then he said mocking him " Is it because it was your daddy's shirt? Awe. How nice of him to leave you a SHIRT when I give you a HOUSE and kill a family I didn't even know! Just so you wouldn't have to sleep in my 'filthy, fucking ancient' car!"

A warm sting formed from top of his small chest and half way down his stomach: a result from Steve cutting his shirt off of his body in the darkness with his newly sharpened buck knife. The warm sting grew into hot, bursting shots of screaming pain. He had cut deep. Blood was running onto the button of his Levi's. He screamed in fury. Trent was boiling over. The darkness had consumed him completely. The energy pumped powerfully through his arms and his legs. It numbed the pain. He could not feel the gash any longer. The rope snapped from the strength it had filled him with. The light's flickered on above him.

A woman's voice angrily barked, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY SON??"

He looked over to the doors with wide eyes. "Mama?" he squeaked.

Trent finally saw what Steve had: a whip.

I wish I wouldn't have passed out then. I want to know what Mom would have said to him. All I remember is Mom carrying me back to that house in the rain but I didn't see Steve anywhere.

The next morning Trent woke up late in the bedroom downstairs alone. He got to his feet, stretched and yawned but then abruptly stopped. First aide wrap was taped on his chest. And at first, it seemed peculiar but then he recalled the previous night's events. He absently rubbed his hand over the blood-soaked bandage as his brain replayed vividly what he could remember. Him screaming and Fiona, that's all of what he could remember. Then he remembered the girl...

He opened the door with its squeaky doorknob or maybe it was the door that was squeaky. Jered was watching TV, cartoons most likely.

"Heh, Trent." he greeted his brother.

"Heh. Where's Mom?"

"I dunno." he answered without taking his eyes off the screen.

"Where's Steve?" He thought about whether he should even be worried.

"Search me." Trent began to wonder to the kitchen mindlessly. "Oh yeah! I remember now! Steve and Mom are cleaning the car out because were leaving in a few minutes. I was just about to wake you up too."

"Oh," was all he could say. After standing at the kitchen's threshold for another moment, he scurried his way up the stairs. Left and left. Her door was wide open and she was still eternally sleeping under the lace canapé. Slowly he walked toward her with a certain kind of respect being said with each silent footfall. He stood before her pale face and her empty stare. Someone used to be in there but now, there wasn't. Only the mere shell of her existence lied there. But in an odd way, it seemed like there was something still inside her, to him anyway. It wasn't really a whole person though. It was like she had an entity composed of many different minor spirits, and all the spirits had left her body when the entity that contained them died but one still remained. It was upset more by her death than the others and had stayed within her body to mourn for a while before moving on.

"Trent, honey, we're leaving! Let's get a move on!"

His mother's words were like a couple volts to the spine. "Okay, Mama!" he yelled back down to her.

His body wavered right and left, trying to decide if a goodbye was in order to his dead friend. He chose to say something. His mouth popped open to say something but his vocabulary well had suddenly gone bone dry. He dug deeper and still came up empty. He searched a different well and found something else instead. He leaned in toward her and brushed her soft, black hair from her face and gently kissed her on her forehead. Right afterwards, he took three quick steps and looked back at her now with the words on the tip of his tongue. He smiled and said, "Audios Amigo". With his words said, he hurriedly ran back downstairs and past the front door that Fiona was holding open for him.

Her deadpan expression grew into a suspicious smile when she saw Trent's happy grin. "What were you doing up there?" she inquired.

"Just...saying goodbye to a friend of mine." he replied.

Reluctantly, she accepted that reply without question of that mysterious, odd son of hers.

He turned on his side and closed his eyes and tried to cease all further thinking. He lied there in a half sleep state for a few minutes. But then a heavy, fog-lifting-thought hit him in the head. His eyelids pulled up like roll up shades on a window.

"We're past the worst of it all." He fell asleep soundly with that bit closure.

(Or are we Trent, or are we?)