As he plodded downstairs to the main floor, nearly pitch-black aside from a light left on in the entryway, Zac couldn't help but feel uneasy about the unnatural level of quiet & calm. He went to the washroom, retrieved two pills, then went to the kitchen & got a glass of water. Just before flicking off the light over the kitchen sink, Zac paused.

It sounded like there was someone outside of the house. The back gate, with its hinges ever in need of oil, could clearly be heard opening and closing.

Setting down his mother's items, Zac quietly made his way to a small storage room at the back of the house. It was packed with boxes of what his parents claimed to be 'nostalgic items that couldn't possibly be thrown out'... Now, however, Zac only found them to be obstacles that would result in a stubbed toe should anyone try to make their way among them in the dark, in hopes of reaching the window.

"Ouuuuuuch, damnit!" Zac whispered fiercely, grimacing as, surely enough, his toe came into contact with a box containing his father's large collection of old albums. He hobbled & squirmed his way to the window & peered through, heart rate ever-increasing.

Along the back fence, Zac could see, in the pale early-summer moonlight, the shadowy figure ambling around slowly & occasionally stumbling over invisible objects.

For a few seconds, the 13 year old regretted ever having begged his two elder brothers, several years ago, to let him watch numerous horror flicks as part of a mini Hallowe'en movie marathon.

Temporarily cursing the large size of their backyard, Zac strained his eyes in an attempt to identify the intruder. His first thought was that it may be fan of the band, but judging by the time of day & the person's mannerisms, he decided otherwise.

Zac also decided that standing there wasn't solving the mystery in any way, shape, or form. Forgetting entirely about his mother's Advil, or perhaps beckoning his dad to come investigate, Zac shuffled out of the storage room and to the door to the backyard.

Closing it as quietly as possible, Zac was relieved to see that the figure didn't seem to notice his presence. Shaded from the moonlight by the roof's overhang, he crept slowly, his body against the siding of the house. Pausing, Zac stared intently at the person & decided at once that it was undoubtedly a male.

Not the most comforting discovery... he thought, drawing in a sharp breath and immediately regretting it, for the noise was just loud enough for the man to hear & turn his attention to Zac.

"Shit!" Zac whispered to himself as the man shuffled towards him. He bent down and took hold of what felt like a baseball bat, never taking is eyes off of the mysterious figure.

Just as Zac had decided his options were to either run back inside the house, or do the complete opposite and ambush the man, he spoke.

"Zaaac? S'at you?"

Even with its very uncharacteristically slurred & lilting tone, Zac immediately knew who it belonged to...

"What the fuck are you doing, Ike?!"

"What the fuck are you doing, Amalia?!"

Her head snapped up as Tom Dwire's voice rang through the otherwise-deserted street. In the dim orange-ish light cast by a nearby street light, Amalia hugged her knees even closer to her chest.

"'Member the last time you hung out by the bar? Huh? Your entire face was black and blue after that drunk bastard got what he wanted."

"That's not what I'm doing here, you asshole. You think I go lookin' for strangers to fuck-for-food-money every night?" she snarled, her tone self-noted as bitchy,"Just screw off, Tom."

Brushing her runny nose with the outside of her sleeve, Amalia watched as Tom did nothing of the sort. After a moment's silence, Tom angrily thrust his hands into the pockets of a much-too-large pair of stained jeans that hung incredibly low on his ever-shrinking hips.

"Damnit, 'Malia, I don't even know why I bother with you anymore! It's like you don't give a shit 'bout havin' any friends when that's the only thing in hell anyone's got out here!" Tom growled, before shaking his head in disgust.

Amalia could hear his footsteps retreating. She shivered at the harshness of his words, for Tom had never shown such bitterness towards her. But it's all true... Everything he said... she thought.

As the door to the bar opened and a middle-aged, balding man stumbled out, Amalia heeded Tom's reminder and was quick to get to her feet. Looking up and down the sidewalk, she set in the direction that Tom had gone, feeling a sudden, urgent need to be... not so alone.

She had only walked a dozen or so meters past the bar when she heard a voice whisper her name. Stopping and looking in the direction of the voice, Amalia saw Tom perched lazily atop the lid of a large, metal garbage disposal bin positioned at the edge of an alleyway.

When he flashed her a small smile, or at least what she presumed to be smile but was questionable in the weak light, Amalia proceeded to walk to the side of the bin & maneuver her way up. As best she could considering they were both sitting down, Amalia uncharacteristically gave Tom a brief lop-sided hug.

"I didn't mean to snap at ya... I just needed to let off steam and you happened to show up at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Tom shrugged,"So I figured... That's why I didn't stray too far. I knew the guilt'd get to you in no time."

Deciding against taking the comment as an insult, Amalia leaned her head against Tom's shoulder. After drawing in a wavering breath, she spoke in a barely-there voice.

"He's not coming back..."