Hello dear reader,

These are a series of one-shot scenes from Harry and Marv's point of view taking place during the event of my main story "Home is where the heart is". Sets in a "Home Alone" AU, where old man Marley was not there to save Kevin at the end of the original Home Alone.

This first scene lapses over one of the scenes in Chapter 3 from "Home is where the heart is", but that shouldn't happen in the future scenes, I'll really focus on scenes and discussions Kevin was not privy to.

Enjoy!

No Monsters

Rude Awakening

I woke up with a start. For a second, I thought it had all just been a dream. A very bad dream. That house… Surely, we hadn't broke into it yet. Surely, that blond devil child had been nothing more than the product of my imagination. He couldn't be real. What kind of child would face-off against two burglars? And those traps! How could we have fallen for those? We could've been arrested! We could've been killed! And that little hellion, baiting us every step of the way… Until we got him cornered. I could've throttled him, I could've-

The kid.

My eyes snapped open at the memory.

Oh God, what had we done?

We couldn't have fucked up that bad.

We had not kidnapped a child.

It had just been a nightmare. A nightmare and nothing else.

My aching body was telling a different story.

My heart pounding, I shivered under my blankets. I could feel a headache coming on. I didn't move. Moving hurt. I stared at the ceiling. I didn't want to get up. Once I got up, I would have to deal with the fallouts of the previous night. I would have to deal with the kid. I had no idea what to do. What the hell were we going to do? I couldn't panic. Marvin was counting on me. If I panicked, we'd make mistakes and then we'd really be screwed.

I could hear noises coming from downstairs. Marvin. I imagined he couldn't sleep anymore either. I was surprised I had slept at all. As much as I wanted to stay in bed indefinitely, I dragged myself to the washroom.

What I discovered in the mirror that morning was not a pretty picture. I vaguely wondered if I should go to the hospital for my burns, but quickly dismissed the idea. Going to the hospital was out of question for either Marvin or me. I swallowed a few aspirins, took a quick shower before carefully putting some antibiotic ointment on my burns. I wrapped my hand as well as I could, but decided not to do anything about my head just yet.

When I could delay no longer, I made my way downstairs, wondering what I'd say to Marvin and what he'd have to say about all this.

The last thing I expected was to the find the kid walking around freely in the kitchen. I was overcome with both with anger at the boy and anxiety over our now uncertain future.

"What the hell is he doing up here, Marv?"

I didn't mean to snap at him, but damn it, did he really have to put me before our mistake first thing in the morning? As long as I had not seen the boy, I could've gone on ignoring the awful truth a bit longer. But there he was, the problem I now had to solve.

As soon as he saw me, the kid froze on the spot frowning at me. As if he had any right to judge me! I balled my injured hand on purpose. The pain helped me focus and kept me from dwelling too long on the kid's red and swollen eyes, the dark bruise under his chin where I had punched him and how small he was.

"He was hungry. I made him breakfast." Marvin explained.

"You made him breakfast? What are you, his maid, now?" I hissed, holding on to my anger.

"What was I supposed to do?" Marvin finally snapped back. "Let the kid do it? See how long it takes him to get his hands on a couple of kitchen knives? Bet he could come up with all kinds of fun surprises with those."

Knifes! The kid was so small, yet I would not have put it beyond him to stab us and shuddered at the thought.

"As far as I'm concerned, he can starve, for all I care." I snarled, trying to intimidate the boy with my most hardened expression.

The boy held his ground while Marvin sighed in response.

"Just sit down and have some coffee, Harry."

Coffee. I might as well; something told me my day would only go downhill from here. My mind was racing forward, analysing all the risks the boy represented. I already imagined police squadrons surrounding the house, and my gaze scanned the horizon with renewed anxiety. God, there were so many things that could go wrong, I didn't know where to begin.

Marvin and I needed to talk.

But not in front of the kid.

The kid would have to go back downstairs. There was no other option, nowhere else to lock him up. Marvin would take care of it; he had, after all, been the one foolish enough to let him out in the first place.

"He's eaten; take him back downstairs, Marv. We need to talk."

I did not expect the little pest to answer:

"I don't wanna go downstairs! I wanna go home!" the brat had the galls to yell at me.

Under different circumstances, I might've admired his spirit in the face of the unknown. I wasn't in the mood, however. I did not want to deal with this, not when everything was still so painful and so I responded the only way I knew how:

"Shut up, kid!"

A shooting pain in my back and head made me regret the movement. I barely heard Marvin's own mown of response. The only one that did not seemed impressed by my outburst was the kid.

He had to go. I had to get the boy out of my sight so I could think. We would never come up with a solution with the brat looking over our shoulders.

"Why did you have to bring him up here anyway?" I growled.

Couldn't Marvin see and understand how serious this was? We couldn't take that sort of chance!

"What if someone comes over, huh? Did you think of that?" I insisted.

The storage room wasn't very hospitable, but it was the safest place in the house. Safest for us, that was.

"Come over?" Marvin replied warily. "When was the last time anyone came all the way out here?"

I could sense he wasn't too keen on locking the boy up again. Well that was just great, the last thing I needed was Marvin to go soft on me!

"You never know, Marv. What if someone hears the kid?

– Like who? The neighbors? I'm not even sure we have neighbors. Will you just chill, we're miles out of town, what exactly do you expect him to do?"

His arguments almost quietened my fears, until the phone rang.

The phone!

How could we have overlooked it?

That's when I realized the kid stood practically next to it. How did I not see it sooner? Considering what kind of child we were dealing with, I knew this must've been his plan all along and I could've screamed in frustration. How could we be so stupid! The kid's own surprise at hearing the phone ring played in my favour and provided me with a second to react.

I grabbed an empty glass that was sitting on the table and hurled it at the kid's head just as he picked up the receiver. I missed, which was probably for the best, although I didn't think so at the time. Thankfully, the shattering glass spooked the kid, giving Marvin and me time to reach him. We didn't need to say a word, or even exchanged a glance to know what needed to be done; I went for the phone, he went for the kid.

"No!" the boy screamed, as I ripped the phone out of his hand, but thank God, Marvin got him under control.

Without even asking who was on the line, I blurred out some excuse about a dog, hoping the caller would buy it, and not question the boy's cry for help. We were lucky, the call wasn't from anyone we knew and might've asked questions about our non-existent dog, but was about a job. The man on the line was close to panic himself about a busted pipe. I recognised the tone and breathed easier. This would-be client was much more worried about the potential damage to his wall than that commotion at the beginning of the call. The kid's single word of protest had most likely already been forgotten. There was nothing but relief in the man's voice when I assure him my partner and I would be there in about an hour.

We were out of the woods.

For now.

I was surprised to find my voice wasn't quivering and that my hand was steady as I wrote down the address. Hanging up, I took a moment to reflect on what had just happened, on what it would mean for Marvin and me, for our lives. One mistake and that was it, we'd be done for. The house might be in the middle of nowhere, but that wasn't enough to guarantee our safety. We couldn't let our guard down, would have to keep an eye on the child all the time. It was both exhausting and depressing to consider.

We couldn't go on like this.

We had to do something about the kid.

But what?

I actually welcomed the work. Any reason to get us out of the house was fine by me. I had a feeling Marvin felt the same way.

On our way to our client, Marvin kept tuning with the radio, jumping from one station to the next. I knew what he was looking for and wondered myself how long it would be before the news reported the boy's disappearance. None of the station mentioned anything however. Far from reassuring Marvin, he grew more agitated.

"Where the hell are his parents, anyway!" he finally shouted angrily.

"Paris." I reminded him.

"What kind of parents goes to Paris and leaves one of their kids behind? That's sick! Fuck, I know hookers with more maternal instinct than that!"

I let him vent his frustration. I knew Marvin; he needed to lash at someone, anyone besides himself. I was just glad he hadn't said "I told you so" yet. Because I was painfully aware he had told me so.

We didn't say another word about the whole ordeal. We were both lost in our own thoughts and couldn't discuss the elephant in the room. When we reached the client's address, I buried my own fears and doubts and set out to work. Marvin, who was usually very chatty with our clients to the point of distraction, was almost silent. He didn't even glance once at the petite woman in a tight lace dress that came and went as we worked. Maybe that was for the best, our client was fretting enough as it was; with relatives staying over, crying children running amok and more guests set to arrive around noon, the only thing on his mind was that busted pipe that threatened to transform his Christmas in a nightmare.

I wish I could be so lucky.

My hand was painful and the bandage made me clumsy, but I wouldn't take my glove off. Damn kid had practically branded me! And of course it had to be my right hand! I ignored the little voice of reason that reminded me I had grabbed the doorknob in the first place. No one had made me. This was a hell of my own making. I didn't want to think about that. I wasn't ready to forgive the boy. It was easier to blame him rather than myself. That's when I came to a new resolution. If I had to wear gloves for the rest of my life, so be it.

No one could ever see that scar.

There was no way to know how much the cops would be able to deduce from the wreck at the house, but I was determined not to let a scar betray me. In the course of one evening, I had been stupid enough for a lifetime. Whatever we decided to do about the kid, I was determined to use my head.

The job was a mess, but it was not such a challenging one. We were able to get it done in a few hours. To our client's relief, we got the water running and had the place cleaned up before noon. We walked out of his door just as his first guests were pulling over.

We both sat in the van without moving for a long time. We didn't congratulate ourselves on a job well done or the dough we had just scored. We were tired, but not from work. We couldn't avoid the topic any longer. Marvin's the one who broke the silence.

"Seriously Harry, what are we going to do?

– I'm open to any suggestions."

And I meant it. My mind felt empty. I would've jumped on any magical solution to our little dilemma.

"We could… you know, take him home?" Marvin finally suggested with some hesitation.

I remembered him suggesting the same thing last night, leaving the kid somewhere on the side of the road. In a way, I wished I had listened. Letting the boy go might be our only way out of this. The boy was safe and sound… mostly. He might have a frightening story to tell, but he'd be fine. Even if he'd seen the house, I doubted he'd remember how he got there, or could provide the cops with an accurate description.

But he had seen the van; the nagging voice of reason reminded me. Everything I had told Marvin as we sped back home on the previous evening was still true; the kid had heard our names, could describe the both of us. Hell, he had recognised me after we had almost run him over with the van. No matter how much I wished to send the boy home and forget about the whole thing, I knew that if we let him back on the street, it'd be the end of Marvin and me. We'd end up in jail in a matter of hours.

Marvin and I had discussed jail in the past. We knew perfectly well the sort of sentence we were looking at if we were ever caught. Home invasion, two to five years in jail, maybe less since neither of us had records and we were careful never to take firearms or other weapon along with us. Paying the retribution fine would be a bitch, especially since Marvin had started letting the water running wherever we went, but all of that we could manage. The game was still worth it. Kidnapping a child on the other hand… We wouldn't see the light of day for twenty years, if not more! My heart began to pound again at the thought and I gripped the steering wheel, embracing the pain to steady my mind.

"You want to take him home?" I quietly asked Marvin. "You really think that's an option?

– Well I know we can't keep him!" Marvin reasoned. "There's been nothing on the radio about him. His parents, legal guardians, or whatever are gone. Maybe no one even noticed he's missing. I say we take him back. Give him a couple of toys to quiet him. Buy him some McDonalds and try to laugh the whole thing off. By the time his parents come back from Paris, he might not mention it! Heck, given how little they cared, they might not even believe him if he told."

It was stupid to hope to solve this thorny situation so easily, but I did hope. Anything was better than the alternative, whatever that may be. I didn't want to think about it. Hell, I'd buy the kid a Nintendo and every game on the market if I knew it'd make him keep his mouth shut about the whole thing.

"Let's drive by the house, see what's what." was all I could say.

I wasn't sure going back to Winnetka or anywhere near that neighborhood was a good idea, but we just had to know for sure. Our next move depended on what we'd find there. We were both nervous and drove in silence.

We had planned to park the van in the church's parking lot and take a quick stroll over to the house to check things out, but that wasn't necessary. Driving past Lincoln Avenue, we saw no less than four police cars in front of the 671 and policemen crawling all over the place. Some distant neighbors had gathered in the street to watch them work, and I could see from the grave looks on everybody's face this wasn't about the burglaries.

Well, so much for our hopes of letting the kid go. I should've known.

"Shit!" hissed Marvin, stiffening next to me.

"Looks like mom and dad are back.

– Talk about lousy timing! I swear they did it just to fuck us up!"

I silently agreed with Marvin and drove away, careful not to speed, or draw attention to our vehicle.

"Maybe… Maybe we could persuade the kid not to say anything?" Again, Marvin hesitated.

He was still looking for a way to get out of this unscathed. I couldn't blame him; I was running over a few scenarios in my mind as well.

"We could do that.

– You really think so?" Marvin sounded hopeful.

"Persuading the kid to stay quiet is not the problem, Marv. He'd promise us whatever we'd want to hear. Maybe he'd even mean it, but he'd sing a different tune as soon as he was back in his parents' arms. They won't drop it. The police won't drop it. We let him go, the kid'll talk. Maybe not right away, but they'd crack him in a matter of hours."

It was Marvin's turn to stay silent. Driving through the fresh snow, we made our way back home with no clear idea on what we'd do.

As soon as we got home, I changed my bandages. My hand was inflamed and I put some more antibiotics on it to prevent any infection. I hoped it would be enough. I swallowed a couple more aspirins before going back downstairs.

I expected to find Marvin sitting in front of the television, scanning the news, but he wasn't in the living room. I silently prayed he hadn't taken the kid out of the storage room again. I found him in the kitchen, opening a can of tomato beans.

"What are you doing?

– What's it look like? I'm reheating a can of beans."

The brown-orange lump that fell in the pan looked so unappetizing I frowned in disgust. I never bought that canned stuff and could not comprehend how Marvin could eat it.

"Forget the beans. Let's go grab a bite in China town."

To my surprise, Marvin shook his head.

"It's not for me, it's for the kid. He's got to eat something."

I felt a twinge of guilt for letting the kid slip my mind, which I quickly extinguished. Guilt wasn't a productive emotion. As much as I hated to admit it, Marvin was right, the boy needed to eat. No matter what I had claimed that morning, I wasn't about to starve the kid. We were in enough trouble as it was without adding child abuse on top of everything else. Then again, looking at those beans, we might as well let him starve. I wouldn't eat those.

Marvin had always been such a lousy cook, just like his mother, it's a wonder he made it to adulthood. I had a sudden flash of the lanky teenager Marvin used to be, eating at our house every night. That was not unusual in itself, we always used to have a few friends over for dinner, but Marvin had been a regular. Leo never ate at his house and over the years, I have come to understand why.

I took a second look at the beans before deciding:

"Throw that away. I'll make pasta.

– We don't have any spaghetti sauce."

I almost rolled my eyes at Marvin's comment. Listening to him, there was only one way to eat pasta. As if my mother hadn't showed him otherwise a hundred times over!

"We've got milk, butter and cheese. I'll throw some leftover broccoli, and it'll be better than those radioactive beans."

Marvin knew better than to stand in my way when I cooked and stepped aside.

"We'll have to go for groceries tomorrow." he remarked.

"Well don't just stand there, get started on a list!"

As could be expected, I'm the one who ended up listing off items for Marvin to write down. I didn't mind so much, it gave me something to occupy my mind.

Preparing dinner did not take that long. I was almost done when Marvin took me aback by announcing:

"I'll go get the kid.

– Why?

– What do you mean "why"? So he can eat."

I didn't want to see the kid. The less I saw of him, the better. Out of sight, out of mind.

"Just take his plate downstairs. He doesn't need to come up here." I cowardly ordered behind a scowl of anger.

"Harry…"

I spat back the best reason I could think of:

"Did you already forget what happened this morning?

– How about we keep the kid away from the phone and, if it rings, we just don't answer it? I'll take it off the wall tomorrow.

– He can eat downstairs." I insisted.

"Harry, we can't keep him in the storage room.

– Yes we can. The place is heated, he'll be fine.

– He's just a kid. He must be terrified.

– I don't care. I don't want him up here."

I thought I had won the argument until Marvin added:

"And if the kid messes himself, are you going to clean him up?"

There was a scenario I would rather avoid.

"Fine, go get him. But watch him!"

I busied myself with the plates, trying not to contemplate how disturbing the idea of having dinner with the kidnapped boy was. Although I tried not to, I perked up at the sound of Marvin's voice in the basement. I couldn't hear the words, but I picked up Marvin's light tone, no doubt trying to reassure the kid. No sound or answer came back. Marvin might as well have been talking to himself. Well, I reflected, at least the brat wasn't crying.

Marvin first led the kid to the washroom while I finished roasting the broccoli. I affected indifference, while carefully following each of their steps in my mind. This could not be our lives, I thought helplessly. There had to be some way out of this… Before long, Marvin brought the boy back in the kitchen. I kept my back turned to both of them as long as I could, but I eventually ran out of excuses and had no choice but to face them. I placed the plates of linguine on the table, while pretending not to notice how distraught the kid looked. He didn't have much in common with the fiery pest we had crossed the night before. Whatever bravado the boy had been able to sustain earlier that morning had evaporated during the course of the day.

The kid didn't sit at the table, and hung back. His eyes seemed too large to be natural and had a glassy look I didn't like. I wasn't used to anyone looking at me with such distrust and fear. I didn't like it. I mean, I didn't know how handle children in general, but I didn't hate them, or anything.

Although the kid had not eaten all day and must've been famished, he barely looked at his plate.

"Sit, eat you dinner, kid." I told the boy, trying my best not to bark at him.

"Will you take me home after?"

I had no idea how to answer that question without triggering a crying spell, so I chose not to answer at all.

"Eat your dinner.

– I wanna go home."

A predictable demand that I knew would haunt Marvin and I for many days. Until we had decided what to do with the kid, I hardened myself to the boy's distress and, again, did not answer.

"Aren't you hungry? Look, Harry made some pasta. With lots of cheese. You like pasta, right?" Marvin tried to coax the kid.

He pulled out a chair for him, and pushed the boy towards it. I could see Marvin's would-be friendly tone did not reassure the kid. His gaze was circling the room, looking for a way out. I automatically looked over to the locks on the kitchen door, making sure they were all in place. The main lock was, but the other two weren't, I noted. I thought it best not to draw attention to this fact. With both Marvin and I in the kitchen, the kid couldn't go far.

"I wanna go home." the boy demanded with a more desperate edge to his voice.

"If the kid doesn't want to eat, he can go back downstairs." I stated calmly, hoping the subtle threat would get him the boy to shut up and sit down.

I knew nothing about children.

Those words had been the wrong thing to say.

Instead of doing the smart thing, which would have been to sit at the table, the kid stumped his foot down on an unsuspecting Marvin. He yelped in both surprise and pain, and let go of his hold on the boy.

"Why you little!" he cried in outrage.

Before I could react, the kid had turned over his chair just as Marvin made a grab for him. I heard more than saw my partner stumble and sprawl across the floor. I didn't have time to make sure he wasn't injured and threw myself in the boy's path before he could make it out of the kitchen.

"Kid, stop!" I ordered with as much authority as I could muster.

This was ridiculous! The boy had nowhere to run to; couldn't he see that? It wasn't too late and I was determined to nip this chase scene in the bud. The kid was in no mood to listen, however, not to mention quick on his feet! Running right over Marvin as he tried to get up, the kid made a dash for the door. I rushed after him, nearly avoiding stepping on one of Marvin's hands. The boy had already unlocked the door, and I came crashing against it as he tried to throw it open.

I heard the kid's fearful cry when he saw his exit cut, and I only just caught him midriff before he could to take off again.

"Let me go!"

The boy was near hysterics, and I could see there would be no reasoning with him. He really didn't leave me any choice; he had to go back to the storage room. I didn't consult Marvin on this and dragged the kid back to the basement.

"Don't! Please! I wanna go home!" the kid screamed all the way down, trying to pull himself free from my grasp.

Ignoring the boy's terror, I pushed him back in the storage room without answering and hastily closed the door behind me. I could however not shut out the kid's broken screams and cries on the other side.

I shut my eyes, took a deep breath and walked away. When I came back upstairs, Marvin was sitting at the kitchen table, head in hands. He was livid.

Time to talk.

"Harry, we gotta do something about the kid. We can't do… this.

– I hear you." I told him, sitting at the table. "What do you wanna do?

– I don't fucking know!"

We were both silent. We could faintly hear the boy pounding over the storage room door and the sound of his cries in the basement. It was unnerving. I could almost feel each time the boy's fists made contact with the door and wondered how long he would keep it up.

I didn't want to say what I was about to say, but I knew Marvin wouldn't suggest it himself. Carefully, I asked him:

"Do you want to turn the boy in?

– Would it be easier?

– Easier? For whom, Marv? We got the kid good and terrified, but he would get over it. His parents would've had the fright of their life, but they'd get over it too. As for us…

– Jail?"

Well it was no use lying to ourselves. I took another deep breath.

"They might go easy on us if we take him back now, before this really gets out of hand. It's not too late."

Marvin did not look at me. He was staring at the table, most likely trying to come to grip with the idea of going to jail.

"How long would we be looking at?

– If we took the boy back? Hard to tell on top of the burglaries. If we got good lawyers… Who knows, ten, maybe fifteen years?"

If we were lucky.

I didn't say it, but Marvin could read between the lines.

"Fuck!

– Our lives wouldn't be over." I tried to persuade Marvin as much as myself, but he shot me a disabused look.

By the time I got out, I'd be pushing sixty at the earliest. Marvin would be well over fifty. Our lives wouldn't be over, but we wouldn't have much to look forward to. We'd be out of a job, have lost all our licenses and the legal fees alone would've swollen both of our bank accounts.

Our old days looked very bleak.

Society wasn't kind to ex-convicts, even those who had turned themselves in.

"Do you want to take the boy back?

– We're going to get killed over this in jail, you know that, right?

– We didn't touch the kid."

Marvin laughed a bitter laugh.

"Think they'd care? Think they'd take our words for it? Think they'd ask?"

I looked away, knowing Marvin was right; jail was not a place for fairness, understanding, or forgiveness. We could both hold our own in a fight, and had each other's back, but jail was a different world. We might not even end up in the same prison! There would be no telling when or how many prisoners might jump us. Given our history, the guards would be all too willing to close their eyes on the whole thing.

I didn't want to go to jail any more than Marvin did.

"Do you want to take the boy back?" I asked nonetheless.

Marvin lifted his eyes from the table, to look over at the basement.

"Whatever we decide Marvin, we're in this together. So we'd better agree on this. Do you want to take the boy back?" I insisted.

I could see the battle raging inside Marvin's head. I didn't ask myself the question. Deep down, I had already made up my mind. I wouldn't be going to jail over this. I did not even wonder what Marvin's decision would be. I knew his selfishness would prevail. I just needed him to come to that conclusion himself.

"I don't want to go to jail." he finally admitted.

"So we agree. We're not taking the kid back.

– We're not hurting the kid." Marvin immediately added. "We're not… monsters. We're not hurting the kid."

I did not argue with Marvin on this. I had a feeling we'd cross that bridge eventually, but there was no point in waging that battle just yet. That was a discussion for another day. Marvin wasn't the only one who had to come to terms with some things.

"But we're keeping him." I repeated just to drive the point home. "That's not going to be easy Marv. What happened tonight, it's going to happen again. The fight, the tears, the screams; Are you ready for that?"

I could see Marvin's courage wavering, but then he swallowed hard and agreed with newfound resolve:

"We're not taking him back."

That night, Marvin got plastered. I didn't. I drank and drank, but even in my drunkenness, I could not forget our situation. Marvin and I might've come to an understanding, but it was still fucked up. My mind wouldn't allow me to forget about the blue-eyed child locked up in our basement.

What were we going to do with him?

We didn't hear anything about the boy's disappearance until the next morning. As we were both nursing our hangover, a special news report interrupted the ads for ongoing Boxing Day sales.

"Our top story this morning, a child has been missing since early Christmas day and the authorities fear the worst." intoned the news reporter.

"I need another drink." Marvin mumbled as he tore himself from the couch.

I had to restrain myself not to imitate him. It would've been easy to drown our problem in alcohol, but I wanted a clear mind as I heard this. Gulping down a glass of whisky, Marvin nervously chewed on his nails next to me.

"A heart breaking story is unfolding in Winnetka this holiday season. In a scenario that must be every parent's worst nightmare, a child has been abducted from his family home during a violent breaking-in something on Christmas Eve."

A picture of the smiling boy I had come to know too well filled the screen as the reporter continued:

"Eight-year-old Kevin McCallister has been missing for over twenty-four hours. He was last seen on Christmas Eve around seven o'clock by one of his neighbors. The Chicago police believe the child may be in danger and are urging citizens to call if they have any information regarding his whereabouts."

Kevin McCallister… So that was the boy's name. It hadn't even crossed my mind to ask him, I suspect because I hadn't wanted to hear it. It made everything so much more difficult. More real.

Kevin.

I had heard that name before. At the McCallister's house. People shouted that name. Why would they… and that's when it came back to me. The boy was none other than the little brat that had sent the family in an uproar while I was there. The one that had been dragged upstairs without dinner by his mother. I recalled what a sharp tongue and temper he had. The memory fitted perfectly with the little demon downstairs, leaving no doubt as to his identity.

To think that, as I had watched that boy struggle with his mother, I had once again congratulated myself on never procreating. Looks like I had just inherited a little terror of my own.

I did not even crack a smile at the irony.

The new cut to another story and I closed the television.

"He sort of looks like a Kevin, don't you think?" Marvin commented lamely.