The warm air of the church's basement caressed him and made him feel good. He unzipped his sweatshirt to enjoy the warmth for as long as it lasted. He kept pace with the two families as they moved across the old stained floor that was paved with industrial tiles that had seen better days. Their target, their nirvana if you will, was a row of tables, covered in plastic holiday tablecloths that held the Mecca that was the church's free Christmas Eve buffet for the down trodden. Though not a study of religion, the boy did embrace the concept of the charity of the church which often kept him fed on the major holidays. It was a free, low risk way to get a meal, if you played your cards right.

The blond teenager made sure he kept up the illusion of belonging to one of the two family-like groups as they twisted their way through the tables and chairs towards the holiday feast. His plan was spot on. The group in the front thought he belonged to the group behind and the group behind thought he belonged to the group up front. Perfect plan, perfectly executed. His "newly" adopted family would get him through this food line without even knowing what a charitable deed they were providing him.

The boy was an orphan, no family of his own and was currently living on the streets having taken a 'vacation' from the foster care system. He knew he would eventually end back up in the system as it was hard, at thirteen, to successfully live on the street if you wanted to stay clean and out of major trouble. But for the moment, he was on a holiday from foster care. A Christmas vacation. Only he wasn't going to Disneyland, but rather reality land where you watched your back 24/7 and trusted no one. Certainly not the happiest place on earth but better than the alternative he supposed.

The foster care system had been his 'family' since he was five years old and normally he could handle it. You learned and adjusted accordingly. He had known some survivors of the system; kids that managed to endure and escape out the other end relatively unscathed. That was his plan, to use the foster system to get through the next few years and then head out on his own to make his mark in the world.

His plans took a slight detour after the last foster home in which they had placed him. It had been beyond his worse wildest nightmare. He wasn't unfamiliar with abuse, mental or physical. Unfortunately it was often part of the package and while not always deliberate, it was usually there in some form. However, in this place, the abuse was deliberate, planned and executed with precision. He considered himself lucky that he had escaped with only minor physical damage. His unlucky foster brother had not escaped at all.

Yes, physically the boy was lucky but mentally, well that was another story. That was why he took to the streets, to assimilate what happened, to deal with it and to repress it in his own manner. His way. If he had stayed in the foster care system, after they learned what had happened in that house, they would have insisted he see a shrink. Been there, done that and sorry Sam but it was not the way he dealt with life. No, he had to get away, clear his own head, mourn his loss, compartmentalize and move on. Like a good soldier.

The food line momentarily halted and he nearly collided with the kid in front of him. He mentally yelled at himself to pay attention to the mission before he blew his one chance at a hot holiday meal. The past was the past. Forget and move on.

Refocusing his efforts on his charade, he picked up a cardboard plate, waxed with a Christmas scene, nice touch, and made his way down the food line. He knew the drill, you held out your plate and some well meaning individual on the other end of a plastic glove would plop the item of choice on your plate, often followed by a smile. As the volunteers ladled heaping spoonfuls of food on his plate, his stomach growled in appreciation. One of the workers laughed at him hearing, his stomachs cries and managed to squeeze an extra helping of stuffing on his already mounded plate. He presented the worker with what later in life would become his characteristic half-grin in appreciation.

'Nice touch,' he thought to himself as he moved on. 'The grin. Have to remember that one. Tomorrow at their private Christmas dinner they would tell their friends and family the story of the starving boy they helped out with that extra spoonful of stuffing. Hey, he did not begrudge them their story. It would make them feel good and he got extra food out of it all was right with the world.'

With his dinner plate piled high in one hand and a slice of pie in the other, he entered into the second phase of his mission. Seating. The teen could not sit with the families he had used as subterfuge to get food because it would be too easy for them to realize he was not theirs and maybe raise the red flag with the workers in the church. No, now he needed a table with one or two single adults to sit at for the second stage of his plan to be successful. Over towards the back corner he spotted a table he thought might have the right mix. It had five adults at it silently chowing down on their food. He slipped into an empty chair next to one of the adults, leaving an empty chair to his left. He hoped his proximity to the single man would give the impression of belonging. While the guy did not smell that great and the boy would have rather moved his chair further away, not closer, one often had to make sacrifices to survive, or eat a hot meal undisturbed. When he sat down, he simply said "Mom's on her way," to no one in particular. The guy next to him gave him a funny look but quickly went back to his meal. The rest of the folks at the table didn't even look up from their food and the boy congratulated himself on picking the right table to enjoy his feast. He took a cup from the middle of the table and pored himself a glass of water before chowing down in earnest.

About a quarter of the way though his meal, the boy glanced up as four of the five occupants departed. That left him and his 'parent' as the soul occupants of the table. Wish as he might, no one else joined them and soon his 'parent' left too leaving the table empty, except for him.

'Rats,' the teen thought. 'An isolated target.' With more than half his food still to eat, he had no thoughts of leaving yet. This was his first meal in days and probably his last for days to come. He was not going to abandon his plate. No man left behind. He thought about taking his plate and trying to leave, sort of like take-out, but the exit door had a Priest by it who personally talked to everyone as they left. No getting the food past him. Well, he had "plan B" to fall back on so he tucked his head and continued to chow down on his meal alone at his table.

It did not take long for the inevitable to happen. A lone boy sitting at a table, alone soon attracted the attention of the church volunteers as he knew it would. His sixth sense told him someone was approaching the table but he deliberately kept his head down, focusing on eating his meal and being, he hoped, unnoticeable. Maybe they would pass on by. However, no such luck.

"Excuse me young man," an odd voice rang out across the floor.

The enemy was upon him.