--I thought I'd apologize for the length of time between chapters... I've been really blocked, but I'm finally free. ^_^ Yay! Well, enjoy, and I'm glad everyone likes this so much. It should be done fairly soon.--

Who would sell their soul for love
Or waste one tear on comprimise
Should be easy enough
To know a heartache in disguise
But the heart rules the mind
And the going gets rough
Pride takes the fall
When you find that kind of love

--from That Kind of Love by Alison Krauss

Night fell. That turned out to be quite a problem; like any other little boy, Isaac was afraid of the dark.
"I want my night-light," he whimpered, and I pulled him to my chest.
"I know, honey. I know." I stroked his hair tenderly. "Sweetheart, don't be scared. If you close your eyes, it's just as dark." Isaac snuggled against my shirt eagerly, burying his face and shielding his eyes.
"But it's dark," he said piteously, voice muffled. I felt a strong surge of simple love for the boy. He was just so helpless, so delicate... So uncapable of what they had said he did.
"Quiet, sweetheart. I'm here, I won't let anything get you." I kissed the top of his head carefully. "I promise." Isaac quieted obediently, snuffling softly into my shirt. I pondered in this silence for a moment.
(They'll be gone by now.)
The gentle pressure of his cheek against my collarbone was a comfort in itself.
(The police will have left. The trailer park will have gone to bed.)
"Isaac, honey," I murmured, stroking his hair thoughtfully. "How would you like to go back to the trailer park? Just for a few minutes while we get Aunt Melly to help us?" There was a moment of silence.
"Could I get my toys?" he asked quietly, and I nodded.
"Yes, sweetheart. You could get your toys, and Aunt Melly will figure out what we're going to do next." Isaac paused, then leaned away from me.
"Are you mad at me, Mary?" It was a careful question, sincere in its concern. I swallowed back yet another onslaught of tears and shook my head.
"No, Isaac." I hugged him tightly. "Never." Isaac hesitated, then buried his face in my shirt.
"Good," he said, voice muffled. "I don't want you to be mad at me." I bit back a sob and pressed a kiss against the top of his head.
"We'll go back soon, sweetheart." I began to rock him slowly back and forth, something I hadn't done since he was a baby. Isaac relaxed in my arms and let out a quiet sigh.
"I love you, Mary," he murmured, and I nearly cried again.
"I love you too," I choked, falling silent again. I didn't want him to hear my voice shake; he needed to believe in me now. I was the adult. For the next fiteen minutes, I rocked Isaac in my arms, the both of us with our eyes closed -- for entirely different reasons.

Isaac balanced expertly on my hip, we snuck quietly back into the trailer park. Everything was black and silent; yellow police tape decorated the Morgans' trailer like some kind of ridiculous plastic fence. Isaac's mess had been cleaned up fairly well, I noted grimly. My guess had been right, too -- the police were gone and everyone else had gone to bed, despite the fact that a 3 foot tall psychotic killer was on the loose. I glanced at the accused. He had his thumb popped in his mouth, eyes squeezed tightly shut in an effort to forget the darkness. I slipped a hand up to smooth his hair. He's almost too cute, I thought, then shook my head and walked cautiously towards our trailer. The key was where it always was; tucked behind the stack of unread newspapers. I always wondered what Mel would do if someone took an interest in our recycling and cleared away the moldering newspapers. It hadn't happened yet.
"Isaac," I murmured. "We're here, I'm going to put you down." The little boy complied wordlessly, landing on his small sneakers with a dull thump. I slid the key into the lock, turned it, and ushered Isaac in with the palm of my hand. "Melly?" My voice was soft, an urgent calling. "Melly, where are you?" I walked quickly through the trailer and glanced around; Melly was in the kitchen, sleeping with her head in her arms and a cup of hot milk in her hand. I smiled in relief and turned to tell Isaac it was all right, but he was on his backside in the living room, in the process of carefully choosing which toys were going with him on the journey. Deciding to let him deal with what was most important to him, I tapped Melly's shoulder lightly. She snorted awake and lifted her head groggily from her arms. Her tired eyes blinked, then finally focused on me.
"Mary?" she said slowly, disbelievingly. "Oh, Mary, thank God you're all right--" Mel struggled to sit up.
"All right?" I frowned, but continued anyway. "Mel, you have to help us. You have to get us out of here. Please--"
"Mary," she said again, and stood. I knew right there I had made a mistake; by the way she stood, the way she was watching me. My feelings were confirmed by what she said next. "I'm so glad you're all right. We have to take Isaac to a doctor, get him help--" I backed away slowly, unable to believe what I was hearing.
"You're joking." I glanced over my shoulder at Isaac, who was putting his toys into a bag with great care. "Please, Melly, tell me you're joking."
"He needs help," my aunt insisted.
"He needs me!" I cried, and whirled away into the back room. "I'm getting us packed. We'll be out of here quickly. We won't bother you for long, don't worry about that."
"Mary," she said patiently, sounding like she was dealing with a difficult child. I shook my head in wordless rage and stalked into my room. "Mary!" she yelled again, and this time she seemed panicked. Melly started to follow me, then stopped at the edge of the living room. I didn't care; I was so angry, it was hard to think. What the hell was wrong with her?

I stormed into the back room, shoving things into a faded canvas bag. I couldn't believe it. Melly, my aunt, my friend, wanted to turn Isaac in. She'd known him just as long as I had; she knew who he was. Isaac wasn't capable of hurting anyone. Fuming, I glanced into the living room.
"Isaac," I called, and stuffed a shirt into the already bulging bag. "Finish packing. It's time to go." There was silence. I suddenly realized his bag had been neatly zipped and set by the door, ready and waiting. "Isaac?" I repeated, lower this time. There was still no response; I thought I caught soft voices in the kitchen. I crept closed, bag under my arm.
"You've done a bad thing, Isaac," Mel was saying, her tone nervous. "You need help."
"Mary and I are going away." There was Isaac, pleasant as always. "We're going away." I set my bag down and moved closer.
"You've committed a crime," Mel said, and this time her voice shook. Footsteps fell across the cheap kitchen tile.
"Mary and I," Isaac repeated with unsettling patience, "are going away. It's what He wants." Another pause. I heard Mel gasp. "You wouldn't want to go against His Word, would you?"
"He?" Mel echoed. She was still nervous and shaky, but there was a distinct undertone of terror. I found I couldn't move; my feet had frozen, my legs locked up. What was going on in there?
"It's what He wants," Isaac said again, and Mel made a weird choking noise. My legs seized up even more.
"Isaac -- Isaac, no! Isaac, no!" There was a short cry, an odd, wet gurgle, and a meaty thud. At last, I gained control of my legs and stumbled into the kitchen, but I already knew I was too late.
"Oh my God," I said, then promptly turned and threw up in the sink.

Melly's throat had been cut -- by the small steakknife lying a few feet away, I imagined -- and her shirt was drenched with blood. I'd seen such sights in horror movies, but this... this was real. This wasn't red corn syrup, this was real blood. And perhaps the scene wouldn't have been as bad if Mel hadn't been shoved under the kitchen table in a desperate, half-assed attempt to keep her out of sight. I stared at my dead aunt in pure, abstract horror until my eyes drifted to the center of the kitchen. There, on the dirty checkered tiles, sat Isaac, trembling with his head in his hands.
"Lord," he whispered, "I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed." I stared at him, unable to believe what I had just seen with my own eyes. Had he just -- just killed --
Well, you know the answer to that, don't you?
After a long moment, Isaac finally whimpered through his shivers and I remembered who he was. I stumbled towards him, arms wrapping around his tiny, shaking body.
"We have to go," I said unsteadily, trying not to shudder myself. He didn't respond. "Come on, Isaac, we have to go."
"Hail Mary," he whispered, and clutched my shirt desperately with his tiny hands. "Hail Mary, Hail Mary, I have sinned, oh I have sinned..." I put my hands on his shoulders and shook him a little. Everything was falling down around my head, but I had to keep at least a shred of my sanity. We had to leave.
"Isaac, we have to go!" The little boy looked up at last, his face a whiter shade of pale than normal, eyes pricked with tears. That surprised me; I hadn't seen him cry without physical pain since his last bad nightmare over a year ago.
"I didn't want to. I didn't want to. She was going to take me away from you, and He told me she had to be disposed of, but I didn't want to and now... Melly's... dead!" Isaac ended this speech with a prompt fit of sobbing. I pulled him hard to my chest and stood, cradling him against me.
"Isaac. Isaac, sh," I murmured, and began rocking him slowly back and forth. "Isaac, Isaac... sh, you'll wake the whole trailer park." Isaac couldn't seem to stop crying; his little body shook with the force of each sob, and it made me want to cry myself. But my tears were frozen behind my eyes, so I had nothing to worry about. "Isaac," I said quietly. It took ten more minutes of careful rocking and soft, soothing murmurs until the little boy finally calmed down enough to speak. Isaac looked up at me at last, his eyes dark and filled with tears.
"I'm a bad boy," he whispered. The self-contempt in his voice made my heart twist painfully; I gave him a hard, desperate kiss on the cheek and shook my head.
"No, sweetheart, no. But we have to go." Isaac's face disappeared into the folds of my shirt.
"Okay. I don't want to look at her anymore. I've been a very bad boy." I hurried to the door, balancing him on my hip as I grabbed both our bags.
"Sweetheart, no," I said softly, and pressed a quick kiss on the top of his hair. Without another word, we vanished back into the forest, just like something out of a fairy tale -- Red Riding Hood and her little wolf.