To Toy With a Young Mind: Prologue

A dark fog loomed over the Malibu coastline. A deep rumbling in the sky and flashes of light over the Pacific Ocean signaled that a storm was on its way. Crack! The soft sound of thunder magnified tenfold as a bright light struck out and touched the surface of the water.

The Pacific Ocean was no longer a friendly, calm body of water. Its dark waves violently toppled over themselves, dragging numerous objects to shore. A small boat far out to sea was being tossed about on the water. Not even the most daring surfer was out in the water trying to catch a big wave. Any tourists had wisely stayed in their dry hotel rooms. The storm had transformed the once bustling Malibu into a desolate, uninviting place.

In Mark Sloan's beach house, not a soul was aware of the impending foul weather. Mark told jokes and chuckled lightheartedly as he ate Thanksgiving dinner with his son, Steve. It was the first time in a long while that they had really spent time together without being embroiled in a frustrating, dark situation. Mark's friends, Jesse and Amanda, joined the Sloans for dinner as they had nowhere else to go to celebrate the day. All four of them needed some time to relax and to forget about their hectic jobs and cases for just a few hours.

Mark jumped as he heard a loud clap of thunder that shook the house. He felt awkward as three pairs of eyes turned to him. "Oh," he laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "I guess even adults are scared of storms sometimes."

Jesse and Amanda shrugged and resumed a pleasant conversation about the hospital. Steve's eyes lingered on Mark a bit longer. Something didn't seem quite right about his father's demeanor. "Are you sure you're alright, Dad?" he asked quietly. "You seem a little distracted."

Not wanting to cause his son any extra stress, Mark waved off the inquiry and his nervousness. He could not, however, shake off the slight apprehension deep inside his stomach. Mark ignored the feeling, writing it off to his dislike of storms. He had always been a little flighty about storms ever since he was a small child.

Throughout the entire meal, something nagged in the back of Mark's mind. At first, he pretended that it wasn't there. Mark, however, found himself unable to accurately process all the words being spoken at the table. It became blatantly obvious to his friends and son that something was bothering him.

Eventually, Mark gave in to the strange feeling in his mind. He got up from the table and went to a closet to retrieve a few flashlights. Jesse and Amanda stared at Mark as he dropped the flashlights onto the dining room table.

Amanda's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What are these for, Mark?" she asked as she picked one up.

"Oh, we don't want to be stuck in the dark if there's a power outage." Mark smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He was grateful that nobody noticed.

After awhile, the tightness in his chest dissipated, and he became jovial again. Mark was confident that he could relax; the fear of the storm was pretty much eliminated if they had a reliable source of light. He was sure that he had all the bases covered.

Half a mile away, a tall man in a black raincoat peered at the beach house through a pair of binoculars. The wind picked up speed and blew his messy, dark hair in his face. The man pulled his coat more tightly around him and nudged a figure beside him.

"It is almost time." The man pulled a golden pocket watch from his coat, glanced at the time, and closed it. "Do not disappoint me, Edward."

A small black haired boy stiffened and crisply turned to face the man. "Yes, sir. I will not fail, sir."

"That's a good boy," the man said gruffly, ruffling the child's hair. The gesture was forced, and the man instantly shoved his hand in his pocket after a few seconds.

The boy shifted uncomfortably then lifted his gaze to meet the man's. The man's eyes were as cold as ice, betraying no emotion, and the boy became apprehensive for the first time. "Fa... Father?" the boy asked sheepishly. The man flinched at the title. "Why do you want me to-" He was cut off by a sharp kick in the abdomen. The boy lurched forward but did not fall.

The man's eyes flashed in irritation, and his voice cut through the chilly air like a knife. "That is none of your concern."

The boy clutched his midsection and staggered. It appeared almost as if he were holding himself together. "Yes, yes sir."

In response, the man waved a gloved hand in the direction of Mark Sloan's beach house, as if he were trying to shoo away a fly. "Go.

The boy didn't have to be told twice. He scurried in the direction the man had pointed. The winds became even more fierce; the sky opened up and dropped heavy, stinging droplets of water to the earth. Still, the boy did not slow his pace.

As he ran the boy became weary. His short legs ached as he repeatedly kicked them out in front of him. The rain burned as it made contact with his unprotected face and splashed into his eyes. His breathing came in fast, shallow breaths. He, however, was unable to stop.

The boy could not let his father down for any reason. His father expected absolute perfection, and the boy had to no choice but to comply. He had to reach his destination and quickly. Time was of the essence.

A satisfied smirk was plastered on the man's face as he watched the little boy darting madly through the storm. The man pulled out his pocket watch a second time. A hint of a smile played across his lips. "You're mine, Sloan."