Boy in the Night

A lanky boy around the age of 17 kept to the shadows of the dark Manhattan streets, away from any wandering eyes. The hood of his black hoodie hung low over his eyes, shrouding his face in darkness. He kept his head down low, hands in his pocket, completely aware of everything around him. If anyone managed to catch a small glimpse of him, they would have thought he was just any normal street thug wandering the back alleyways.

The dark boy walked at a brisk pace, his ratty dark Vans sneakers making absolutely no sound on the pavement. He walked with strict purpose, the muscles pumping in his powerful legs hidden beneath his dark jeans. He kept taking many confusing turns down side roads and corners in case of a tail. He looked tall and a bit lanky, but that was all anyone could ever discern from his outward appearance; everything else about him was nondescript, and he wanted to keep it that way.

The boy could sense the presence of the occasional rat scurrying among the trash bins in dark alleyways, along with the sound of traffic noises a couple of miles away. Other than that, there weren't any unusual noises, but the boy kept on the lookout just in case. He wouldn't be taking any chances tonight.

Eventually, the boy came up to an old, run-down and vacant brick factory building with broken windows layered with dirt. He darted into a nearby alley at the back of the building, stopping at a rusted steel door. He took his left hand out of his pocket long enough to press the palm of it on the door for 3 seconds. A slight clicking sound could barely be heard, and the boy was able to push open the door easily. With one last glance down the narrow alley to make sure he was indeed alone, the boy slipped inside and closed the door quickly and quietly behind him.

He kept his hood up as he walked up the big stairwell to the fifth floor of the building. The floors were messy; debris of all kinds lay everywhere, littering the cracked and eroding stone floor. The boy continued to make his way towards the back of the floor, finally stopping at a closed door down one lone hallway. He knocked twice on the door deliberately. Automatically, the door opened a crack and a brown head popped through.

“You're back early, Trae.” the boy remarked in a light, surprised tone, examining his comrade's appearance. He had unruly light brown hair and trusting bright brown eyes; Trae's right-hand man, and his one and only closest friend, whom he treated like a brother.

“We've got a more important assignment. I heard wind of it and I came here. This is big, Kent.” the boy named Trae replied very seriously. His voice was low, dark and mysterious.

Kent nodded once, opening the door all the way. “Alright, come in. Tell me all about it.” When Trae was all the way in, Kent immediately closed the door quickly behind him.

Trae trudged into the room, throwing back his hood to reveal the unnaturally smooth skin of the mysterious boy underneath. He turned to his comrade, wasting no time getting to the point. “It’s not good, Kent. It has to do with the recent disappearances in Manhattan lately—and it's not the doing of just any ordinary human gangs.”

Kent raised an eyebrow at this news. “Oh, great… Just what we need.” He said in a low monotone, looking no where near great.

Trae's dark eyebrows furrowed in a frown at his friend. “This is no time for sarcasm, Kent, this is serious. It's about those strange kidnapping disappearances. Here, in Manhattan,” he added for emphasis.

Kent's face turned from curious to worry as he tried to process this new information. “Really? Where'd you hear this?”

Trae stowed his hands in his pockets, a grim expression on his face as he explained further. “I overheard two ‘Wolves talking about it at a pub in Europe. They mentioned something about a Necromancer cult killing humans and Supernaturals for sacrifices somewhere in New York. They made suspicions that the Necromancers are Witches working for one of the Sorceress's most wanted by the Angel Enclave, but it's all hush-hush because it's supposed to be absolutely secret. So, I decided to come back here and investigate once I'd heard another human had been kidnapped on the news. Has our sources returned anything concrete about the Necromancers' whereabouts?”

Kent shook his head in answer. “They're still asking around, and so far nothing has come up yet. School starts back up again in a few days. I can get them on it ASAP to try to find out…” He suggested, hands stuffed in his baggy jean pants.

Trae nodded, now lost in thought. “For now, that will have to work. I don't know about you but I'm ready to solve this and put this whole matter behind us.”

Kent readily agreed with that statement. “Yeah, so we can go back to more important matters…” he trailed off, but Kent didn't have to go on because Trae knew exactly what he was talking about.

Dragging a hand through his dark hair in an exhausting gesture, Trae plopped down onto the moth-eaten couch nearby to rest for a short while. The journey back to the States had drained him, both emotionally and physically. His muscles felt sore and he knew he needed something to rejuvenate his body to bring it back to fighting shape.

Losing control of his glamour, an ugly, jagged scar appeared on the left side of his cheek. One moment, his skin looked flawless, the next it just wasn't. The scar started at the bridge of his nose and curved across his left cheek, extending down in a question mark-like figure, disappearing beneath his shirt—from his neck to his chest.The mark completely marred his features, making him appear rough and foreboding to anyone who looked upon him.

Kent examined his close friend and partner in crime, noticing how horrible he looked despite the jagged scar across his cheek; he was used to the sight by now but it was still weird to look at sometimes.Trae looked as if he'd been through hell and back; dark circles shadowed underneath his eye sockets as if he hadn't slept at all in weeks, his dark green eyes hooded and his expression one of exhaustion. His normally short brown hair was longer than it used to be, ruffled from his hood.

The boy was no doubt in need of a shower and a good night's rest, and Kent was going to tell him so.“Dude, you look like crap. When's the last time you've actually slept?” Even though Kent could guess the answer to that, he put it out there anyway.

Trae just shook his head, running a hand tiredly across his forehead. “Don’t remember” was his vague reply.

Kent sighed heavily. Always so stubborn… “How's about we discuss all of this tomorrow. You look like you need some good quality sleep, not to mention some new, clean clothes; just do it and don't complain.” Kent pointed over to a smaller room that held a lone shower. Since it was unfinished, the water pipes could easily be seen but it did shoot out water; even though it was cold, it was still better than nothing at all.

“Fine.” The dark-haired boy sighed. Trae was too tired to argue for the moment so he just nodded tiredly and headed over to shower without another word.

Kent watched his friend go, his expression softening over his friend’s rough predicament. The kid didn’t really know when to quit.

Rubbing a hand along his face and combing his fingers through his shaggy light brown hair, Kent went over to his desk where his trusty computer sat to power everything down. It was time for him, too, to get some rest.

My crappy old truck sputtered, about to die practically in the middle of the busy street. Thankfully, I successfully managed to pull the slowly dying vehicle over to the side of the road at the curb before it completely died on me, out of the way of the annoyed cars behind me.

I had specifically told my mom to get me more gas when she went shopping yesterday morning—but did she?

Nope, she hadn’t! Mothers…

Frustrated, I pulled out my cell phone from my pocket and dialed my mom's cell, waiting rather impatiently for her to pick up.

You see, my mother worked for the New York Times—yes, you heard right. She wrote articles for the paper all day. She loved her job, and was very glad we moved here from Oregon to take the job. Right now, she was probably at her desk writing a news article for the paper. My mother was an editor-slash-journalist for the newspaper.

Unless she was at a meeting, she should answer my call. If not, that would mean I would be stuck on the curb on the side of this unknown road for a really long time, and I didn't have the patience to wait that long.

Today had been a stressful day. I'd been all over the city buying things I needed for my new room in the apartment we'd recently moved into. It had been a hassle and all I wanted to do right now was to relax with my dog, maybe watch TV, and drink some herbal tea. That actually sounded wonderful right about now…

Thankfully, Natalie Montgomery picked up on the third ring. “Hey Kare-Bear, how are you settling in?” She asked in her usual cheerful greeting.

I wasn't very find of that nickname from childhood, "Kare Bear”… After all, I was seventeen now, not five.

“Mom, stop with that nickname, I'm not little anymore,” I reminded her with a roll of my eyes that she couldn't see. “And I can't settle in right now! I’m stuck on the side of Buick Avenue because you forgot to put gas in my truck like you'd promised!” I told her, slightly irritated at her for being so forgetful. Don't get me wrong, I loved my mom, but she could really drove me bonkers sometimes… Usually her mind sometimes liked to travel to some other universe in her head and would totally forget things you'd tell her a little bit ago. And sometimes, I thought she really was a blonde.

“Oh, baby, I'm so sorry! It totally slipped my mind. I'll be right over as soon as I can!” she promised. "Stay inside the truck until I get there, doors locked, just like I told you.”

“Okay, okay. Be quick though; I don't like staying in such a strange place for long.” I told her. It was she who would always remind me to never go to any place I wasn't familiar with.

Unfortunately, in a big city like New York, you really couldn't avoid it.

After I hung up, I did what she asked, locking the doors. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about the windows. I always had them rolled down when I drove, since the AC was busted.

I desperately needed a new car.

It wasn’t that I absolutely hate my truck, I just wished that it wasn't an old piece of junk that breaks down on me every month. At least I had a vehicle to drive me to places; I really couldn’t complain.

I sat inside my truck to wait for my mom to get there. I plugged in my ear buds and listened to my mp3 just to pass the time. It would probably take her thirty minutes to get to me, depending on the traffic conditions at this time of day. Manhattan was such a busy place 24/7, though at certain times during the day, it could be better than others.

I became so wrapped up in my thoughts and my music that I barely noticed the person standing on the passenger-side of my truck until ten seconds later.

A boy resembling buff-looking football player stood there on the sidewalk, a friendly smile on his face as he waved at me. His sudden appearance had startled me, and I silenced my music, taking out my ear buds.

“Hey, what are you doing sitting here all by yourself? You know this isn't exactly a parking zone.” The guy said, smiling at me in amusement.

A group of people, who I assumed were his friends, walked up behind him and gawked at me. Majority of them were guys, and fewer of them were girls. Right away they made me uncomfortable, and I knew they were bad news.

“My truck ran out of gas. I'm waiting for my mom to come pick me up.” I replied, feeling very conspicuous sitting there, all eyes on me. I hated being the center of attention; I was more of a wallflower, preferring to be ignored and invisible. There was less stress, and fewer chances of people finding out more about me than they should.

The handsome boy's eyes examined me up and down. While his gaze was appreciative, his groupies behind him—especially the females’—eyed me with contempt. One chick in particular, a bright blonde, gave me a hostile glare, not even bothering to hide the fact that she hated me right on the spot; she thought I was competition.

The guy's next statement brought me back from my reverie. “You don't look like you're from around here. You new?” He asked, curious.

“I just moved.” I said in a clipped voice. I desperately wished they would all just go away and stop asking me so many questions! I was not a very social person. These kind of interactions, especially with people I didn't know, made me uncomfortable.

“So what school are you, like, going to?” One of the preppy girls asked. She was the exotic Asian who had way too much makeup on, but still looked perfect.

Ugh…

“Southwest High,” I replied. Seeing the clothes they were wearing, I immediately felt under dressed in my plain yellow t-shirt and white shorts.

“That's cool, so do we.” The boy in front of me said. “I’m Josh, by the way. These are my friends.” Josh started naming off their names and I tried to follow. The dark-haired Asian was Monica Alexandria; the two girls, Jessie and Jade Speargull, who were twins; and the stuck up blonde who'd given me the stink-eye was Angelica Meyers. The boys' names I couldn't keep up with.

The boys kept pressing me with questions, seeming very interested in me and wanted to know more about me, and it felt totally bizarre that I was getting all of this attention. Usually, the boys in the schools I went to kept their distance from me, pretending I was invisible. I'd liked it that way, but having them react this way to me now was unnerving. Why me? This made me uncomfortable and I wanted to get out of that place fast. Where the heck was my mother!

“Where did you live before here, like, a dumpster? Just a tip: you could seriously get a new makeover—no offense,” The Asian girl, Monica, gave me a perfect smile. She didn't particularly say it in a snotty way; more like a helpful, 'I-actually-sorta-care-what-you-look-like' way, if that made any sense… She was being kinda nice, and that caught me off guard. Why would she be nice to me? I was a nobody.

And then the evil blonde, Angelica—who’s name did NOT fit her personality at all—had to butt in and make matters worse. “Well, I sure hope you have some better clothes. You're not gonna last long at Southwest High.” She told me. She had that clear, perky, know-it-all voice that I absolutely hated so much. I already knew I wouldn't definitely fit in with this group.

Angelica walked up to Josh and hooked an arm through his, practically clinging to him like she owned him. But Josh had his too-friendly brown eyes on me, which made me feel even more uncomfortable, especially with his PO'd girlfriend glaring me down. I immediately looked away.

“Come on, Josh. We've gotta go.” The blonde finally said, breaking the awkward silence—at least, I thought it was awkward. Giving me on last death glare, she and Josh walked away, followed by the rest of their gang.

“See you around.” Josh said one last time before they were out of earshot—well, normal earshot…

“Wow, did you SEE how drabby that girl looked?” the blonde scoffed to her group. "She so needs to get a new wardrobe makeover.”

At first, my initial thought was, She doesn’t know that ‘drabby’ is not a word, does she?—Then I frowned at her last comment. What a preppy jerk… I wanted to call her a worse name, but decided it was something that was already implied and didn’t have to be said aloud.

“Yeah, but she seemed okay.” The Asian girl shrugged, unfazed by my lack of style-slash-wardrobe.

Josh agreed, too. “Yeah, it’s too bade we never got to hear her name…”

I eventually stopped listening in to their idiotic prattle, tired of the snobs already. School was going to be hell. I desperately hoped mom would be there soon, or I would start walking home—five miles or no.

I hated my life.

~✪~✪~✪~

It was early that afternoon that Trae and Kent began taking action and making plans.

“For one, you need to start going back to school; we both do. There may be something there that we missed. And, for the Angel's sake, take off that hoodie! No one's here to see you except me. Dude, you can be way too uptight sometimes…you’ve gotta learn to live a little, man!” Kent complained, giving his friend a look.

Trae sighed, rolling his eyes, but reluctantly obeyed his friend. It was getting hot in the thing anyway, he thought as he slipped the hoodie off his head, revealing the green Aeropostale shirt he'd nabbed recently from some store. Now that the baggy hoodie was off, it was easier to see what was really underneath his exterior.

Trae’s longish hair was a mess, the dark brown strands sticking up everywhere from his hoodie, his dark green eyes sparkling in what little sunlight shone through the moth-eaten curtains covering the windows. Here, in the safety of their little hideout, Trae didn't bother hiding his jagged scar behind a glamour, having no need to since it was just he and Kent.He absently rubbed part of his scar on his cheek, a nervous habit he'd had ever since he could remember. Some would say he looked devilishly handsome, though the normal facial expression he wore made him seem cold and bitter-hearted—just like he acted. Though, his scar helped get the point across to 'leave me the hell alone…' He always wore the perfect expression of boredom on his face, always keeping other people at arms length; it was the way he wanted it. He didn’t particularly like human interactions either, with the exception of Kent.

“Better?” he inquired grumpily, raising an eyebrow at Kent to see if he approved.

“Loads,” his friend replied sarcastically. He loved trying to get a rile out of Trae, just to lighten him up a bit; he was constantly uptight about every single thing. “Anyway; school. We need more people in on it. How about we notify the group we have stationed in Southwest High? Since you left, they've been on the lookout. Last time I checked a few months ago, they said there's been mysterious disappearances of late. Maybe it's connected to the uprising in our world? There's only one way to find out.”

Trae nodded in agreement. “Great, let's do it.”

“Tomorrow then?” asked Kent, which Trae replied to with a curt nod. “Okie-dokie then. Guess that's that, bro.” He held out a fist for Trae to fist pump back.

He just looked at Kent's fist, then back at him, with a look on his face that said, ‘are-you-serious?-I'm-not-playing-this-game.'

But Kent was persistent, giving a grin on his face and moved his fist closer towards Trae, waiting. “Aww, come on, man. Don't leave a brother hanging!” He urged, practically shaking his pumped fist in his friend's face.

Trae sighed, rolling his eyes, but finally obliged his friend and fist-pumped him back. Kent hooted triumphantly, and Trae had to forcibly not roll his eyes a second time. “You're impossible.”

“If you're going back to school tomorrow, you've gotta stop acting like a recluse and blend in! Fist pumping is In right now, you know; all the Cool Kids are doing it.” Kent claimed, trying to reason with Trae—that was a hard feat to accomplish.

Trae narrowed his eyes at his insane friend. “Please spare me the boring details. I'm not really in the mood for your games at the moment.” He stood up to walk over to one of the windows and peaked out at the half-deserted city below. He was glad they'd picked this desolate location, where barely anybody lived. He hated crowded life of the city, but he had to be able to put up with it if he was going to be heading back to school now.

He heard Kent sigh behind him, no doubt making himself comfortable on the couch. “Look who's the impossible one now! Chillax, dude… I know dealing with school and people isn't your thing, but it’s life; you have to interact with people. Deal with it.”

Sadly, Kent was right, and Trae knew it.

He and Kent had been on their own for at least two—maybe even three—years, hunting down bad guys linked to their parents' deaths and fighting evil trying to threaten the Supernatural World. That was also when Trae had received the ugly big scar—a memory he was never likely to forget.

So far, as far as their parents' deaths were concerned, they weren't making much progress, which ticked Trae off to no end. Now that there were more pressing matters, they had to give up searching for justice for their parents, for now. Trae didn't like it, but it had to be done.

Not long after, Kent's loud snores echoed throughout the small room, telling Trae he was fast asleep. That kid could fall asleep at the drop of a hat, especially after he'd eaten; Kent could shovel in food after food like there was no tomorrow, always starving no matter what time of day it was. If his friend snored any louder, Trae was afraid it would alert every Supernatural to their location; Trae was just jumpy like that.

All his life, Trae had never trusted anyone but Kent. But not even Kent could really get Trae to open up. He was shut himself out from the rest of the world, no one could reach him on a deeper level; he blocked everyone from that part of himself for years after the cruel deaths of his parents, who had been Nephilim themselves—of course, he hadn't known that back then…

Besides, Trae was unstable as it was, so anyone with that kind of access could get seriously hurt. Badly… Trae was led to believe he'd always be alone, that he'd never trust anyone else.

If only he knew how wrong he was.

Thirty minutes after the Popular Posse left, my mom finally picked me up in her old red Honda. Natalie Montgomery apologized profusely over and over, saying she should have remembered to get it fixed yesterday and yada yada yada… I tried to tell her it was fine the rest of the ride home, but she insist relentlessly despite whatever I said.

It was fifteen minutes later when we finally reached Sunny Rose apartment complex. The place was decent; not too stylish however, but it was home. We lived in the upper level in the apartment labeled “18” in thick black letters on the beige-colored door, located on the second floor.

I used my key to let us in, and we were immediately greeted by one excited little golden retriever puppy, who came bounding up to us and yipping happily.

“Down, Trevor.” I commanded through my laughter as my puppy practically launched himself at me, standing up on his hind legs to lick my face with his sloppy pink tongue. But at my command, Trevor obeyed, placing all four paws obediently back onto the ground and wagging his tail rapidly from side to side.

“I'm jealous. That dog won't listen to a word I say, but when you say it, he automatically does it. I don't get it!” Mom huffed, walking past me to place her purse and car keys on the counter in our little kitchenette where she always puts it. Trevor followed us like a happy but obedient servant.

I just shrugged, tossing my bag on our small couch in the living room. “It's probably because I raised him.” I pointed out, glancing around. Our apartment wasn't big. Mom had the master bedroom, which was only slightly bit bigger than mine. I had the room just off the hallway past the kitchenette. It had a small bathroom and shower, which I resented. Sadly, you couldn't get everything you wanted.

The furniture wasn't much either. Mom bought our small couch that could only fit two people on it. We also had a couple lawn chairs set up to make up for reclining chairs. Sad, I know.

“I’m going to call AAA about your car to try and get it fixed.” My mother told me, picking up our house phone.

“Well, you could always get me another car…” I said under my breath, more to myself than anything, but she'd heard it anyway.

“Kara, we don't have the money. We've been over this, sweetheart.” She let out an exasperated sigh, holding the receiver to her ear.

“I know,” I said as AAA finally picked up on the other end, and I was left to my own devices for a bit.

I grabbed my bag from where I had tossed it on the couch and made it to my room. The walls were plain and the ceiling was white, with very minimal decoration and furniture. The two windows in my room overlooked the small east parking lot. It wasn't much of a view, but I wasn't complaining.

My bed was a size too small to fit me, but that wasn't much of a big deal for me. I curled into a small ball when I slept and rarely took up much room at all. I had a wooden dresser, a closet, and a small makeshift bedside table that held my alarm clock and a book I was currently reading.

I worked as a bus girl at Harvey's Hamburger Shoppe, the most cheapest fast-food restaurant in the lower east side of Manhattan, getting paid a small amount. It wasn't too bad; no one from my school went there, so that was a plus.

Mom popped into my room a few minutes later. “They said they'll have your truck fixed after school tomorrow. I can drive you in the morning.”

“Alright. Thanks Mom.” I said, sitting up from where I sat slouched on my bed.

She left, but was back a second later. “Speaking of school, do you have all your school supplies ready?” She asked, ducking her head back into the doorway of my room.

“Yup, it's all packed and ready.” I gestured to the school supplies that were piled up in the corner of my room.

Natalie smiled. “Good! I’ll be in my room working on a story for the newspaper. Dinner will be on your own.” She walked out, her muffled footsteps fading away, leaving me to my thoughts.

My mother's job always kept her busy, which left me to fend for myself. I normally read or went to the park, walking Trevor and just enjoying the scenery. Ordinary, one might think, but I wasn't ordinary at all.

I had a secret that no other human knew about, except my mother, because she was one, too…

I am half human, half angel, known as Nephilim. Mom told me my dad was Nephilim as well, back when he had been alive. She never told me much about him; all I knew was that he died protecting the human race from all evil, while keeping peace between the Supernatural and the humans. Humans don't know about the Supernatural and their super hidden society, and it has been like that for forever.

After Dad died, Mom decided to leave the Nephilim life and the rest of the society she grew up in behind. She raised me in the human world, just like any other human family would. But no matter what I did, I couldn't forget—much less hide—my true heritage along with my special abilities. It was hard keeping my abnormalities a secret; I often found myself wanting to confide in someone, but I knew I could never do that.

Over the years, I learned how to control my abilities on my own. I was unusually fast and had a slightly more advanced mind than the average human. I was also strong, and had acute hearing. The biggest ability I had the hardest time controlling was my special ability to create things or transform them into something else entirely. Once, I was carrying a bowl of soup in my hand once at lunch. I had accidentally tripped and my bowl went flying out of my hands.

It was all a blur, really. I had heard the bowl clatter to the floor of the kitchen, and when I looked up, there was miraculously no sign of soup on the floor at all; instead, confetti covered the floor, with the soup bowl tipped upside down on the ground. I was always worrying something like that would happen in public. That wouldn't be good.

Let me tell you, trying to be normal isn't easy. With Mom's job, we've been moving a lot because of all the offers she's received. Plus, it gave us an excuse to get away from our Old Life and the memory of my dad, Mom had told me. She said I was lucky that I had no recollection of my father because it would have made it extra harder; I had been really young when he was alive. However, I was still left with an empty whole in my childhood where my father should have been. I secretly envied all the kids who got to have both their parents.

Interrupting my reverie, my dog Trevor came bounding into my room, leaping onto the bed with me and nuzzling his cold wet nose into my neck.

I laughed, cuddling my three-year-old puppy, wrestling with him playfully. “Hey buddy. How have you been?”

Trevor managed to slobber all over my face, till all I could smell was his horrid dog breath.

“Ugh! Trevor, really?” I lightly pushed the dog's face away so he wouldn't continue to smother me with his little dog kisses. He was such a hyper, energetic ball of fur. He loved to wrestle with me and loved to play all the time.

“You, dog, are absolutely spoiled.” I told him, grinning.

With a playful yip, Trevor scrambled out of my arms and leaped off my bed to bound out of my room. That was usually a sign he wanted something.

Sighing, I got up off my butt to follow the dog. Sure enough, he was doing his little excited-food dance around his food bowl that laid just outside the doorway leading to the kitchen. He pierced me with those pitiful, big golden eyes of his, practically begging for a milk bone.

I just laughed at that pitiful look he was working on me and headed into the kitchen to dig into the cupboard, retrieving a milk bone. Holding it up, I looked at Trevor and commanded him to sit and he did so readily, all the while his eyes remained glued to the treat in my hands. Mom had come out of her room by this time and stood there watching the show with a small amused smile on her lips.

“Are you a good dog, Trev? Do you think you deserve this bone? Do ya?” I asked him in a low suggestive voice.

Trevor let out a resounding bark in answer, wagging his tail rapidly back and forth and panting. He greedily eyed the treat in my hand.

I couldn't help but break out into a huge grin and handed it to him. “Okay, then. Here ya go!”

Trevor took it happily from my fingers and trotted away with his prize for being such a good dog.

“Your dog is a mess. You know he's going to be begging for another one right after he's done with that one because, well... you know, he's such a "good dog" and all.” Mom told me with a smirk.

I smiled, shaking my head. “Yeah, I know. He's spoiled rotten.” I remarked.

Afterwards, Mom headed into the kitchen to get what she had originally came for—her favorite pen that she wrote all her articles for the newspaper with. “I wonder why? Hmmm... maybe it's because you spoil him too much; it's all gonna go to his head.” She teased.

I laughed at that. “It’s already gone to his head.” I pointed out.

Mom grinned at me, ruffling my hair. “Got that right! Well, I’m going to hole myself back in my office and get this story written up; my deadline is Friday morning.”

“What are you writing about this time?” I asked, mildly curious. Many of the stories she wrote for the newspaper were always interesting. Mom was an excellent story writer. She had told me that was also how she'd met dad, if I remembered correctly…

“There's been another murder, another person missing. Do you remember that one news report about the 'rabid dog' prowling the streets on the North side of Manhattan? Or the stories about random people going missing? Well, there's been a breakthrough, and I've been asked to write it all out. It's very mysterious, and I can't help thinking it's related to…the world I had left behind…”

Natalie's face became somber and grave at the mention of that other world her and Dad had been a part of. She had tried so hard to forget the sad life and structure she had been brought up in, though she's never really told me much about it because it just brought back horrible memories she never wanted to relive again. Unfortunately, you could never really forget the life you were meant to live, no matter how hard you tried.

I became serious as well. “Oh… Uh, do you…want to talk about it? Maybe it might help? I heard talking about it really helps.” I pressed, despite my doubts that she’d tell me anything.

Mom shook her head, confirming my guess. “Now's not the time to start reliving it now. Maybe at another time—but thank you, hon. I just need to focus on finishing this paper…”

I nodded, understanding her subtle hint. “Yeah, sure… Good luck.” I tried to give her a smile, hoping it might lift her spirits a little.

Mom managed a small smile that didn't reach her eyes, attempting at sarcasm. “Thanks, sweetie. Goodness knows I’ll need it.”

I just stood there quietly for a while as she went back into her room, shutting her door firmly behind her, until Trevor came padding up to me, finally finished with his treat. Sensing my mood, he sat beside me, bumping his head against my head and whimpering in sympathy for me. At the same time, comforting me as well.

I bent down to rub behind his ears. “Who’s a good boy? Who's a good dog?” I cooed.

Trevor, no longer sad, answered me with another one of his excited barks, hoping for another treat.

“That’s enough treats for you. Maybe after dinner?” I told him, giving his head a final pat. “We can go for a walk after school tomorrow. How does that sound?”

He answered via a happy wag with his tail, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. I laughed, shaking my head. “You are spoiled!”