[Not sure, this might be the final chapter]

Chapter Six

James doubled over, crying silently. "Please don't hurt me," he whimpered.

Peter patted and rubbed his back with one hand. "Your family is dead, James."

"Yeah," Paul said gently. "What do you want to live for, anyway?"

"I don't know," he wailed. "I just don't want to die."

Paul looked down at him, eyebrows knitted. "How about this. Let's play pretend. Say Peter and I decide to let you live—now this is all hypothetical, of course. Pretend we pack it in, shake your hand, and walk right out the front door. Now what do you do?"

"I—I..." He pulled in several deep, rattling breaths. "I would go live with family—"

"No," Paul insisted. "Even before that. I mean right after we walk out the door."

He sniffed, frowning; trying his damndest not to break down. "Go to the neighbor's, I guess."

"Your neighbors can't help you. They're dead. Now what?"

James looked from Paul to Peter, then down at his lap. "Go to the next house."

"That won't work," Paul said. "Me and Peter went straight there from your house. But say you spot us in a window and get away without us seeing you. Now what?" Paul was leaning forward, almost enthralled, eyes wide and shining.

James sobbed, putting his face in his hands.

"Well?" Peter prodded.

"I'll wave down a car," James choked out.

"That won't work, either. Me and Peter are driving the car. Now what?"

"I'll flag down a boat."

"Me and Peter are steering the boat."

"You can't," James said, words strangled with tears. "That's not fair."

"You're getting so upset," Paul said, his voice a mix of feigned worry and amused incredulousness, "over something that hasn't even happened."

"I'm gonna die."

"But you're not dead yet. Who knows, maybe someone heard the gunshots and the police are on their way."

"But they're not," Peter said casually.

"Well, yeah. But, y'know. It's possible."

"I don't want to die," James said again.

Paul shrugged, standing up straight. "We have a few minutes to spare. How old are you, James?"

"I'm only thirteen."

"Now that is a travesty. Never went to prom. Never kissed a girl. Never got drunk." He paused, smiling. "I mean I'm assuming. You never did any of that stuff, did you, Jimmy?"

"No."

He laughed a little. "That's okay. Neither has Tubby."

Peter frowned at him, but decided not to say anything.

Paul leaned in towards James. "You know," he said confidentially, "now that your parents are gone we can play some even more fun games. Your parents keep any liquor in the house?"

"I don't know," James squeaked.

Paul laughed again. "I'm kidding. Getting an underage boy drunk. What kind of people do you think we are?"

"I just don't want it to hurt," James said suddenly.

"What?"

"Dying... Just do it fast."

Peter leaned back on the couch, and Paul scratched his neck, tilting his head. "Huh. Sure thing, buddy. Tom, what time is it?"

Peter looked at his watch. "Six-thirty, about."

"Man, we're really pushing that time limit." He looked down at James, sighing. "You know, it's almost a shame. That it has to end. You guys were some really good sports. It was a lot of fun. Peter, the gun."

Peter handed it over and Paul opened the cylinder. Slowly, he clicked it so that the single bullet was in place, ready to be fired. He pointed it at James' head.

"I know you're not bad people," James said quietly, desperately.

"Yeah. You too, bud."